Exercising Caution

My blogging stream has dwindled to a trickle, nay a mere droplet these days. I put this down to not so much writer's cramp but more the wake-up call I got a year ago that has caused me to make changes to my lifestyle. This was the result of a surgeon's knife style and me being in recovery from a fairly major operation - if I hear the words "it's a large wound" again I think I will disappear up the said cavity and seek insulation from that particular wall of sound. 

I won't attempt to sugar-coat things but prior to arriving at A&E  whilst aware of my mortality - death is the one thing we can all be confident of experiencing, I was fairly complacent about my own contribution to holding back the grim reaper and didn't  quite realise I was in the ante-room and hadn't a hope of becoming a blade runner but a prime cut.  Cut down in my prime.  

My blood glucose was a heady (heading for a diabetic coma)  18.2 and I will spare you and me my BMI other than say in my case it was BMO (Bloody Morbidly Obese). Fat and happy? I doubt anyone is ever really; FAH tends to be a kind of compliment by others mostly when they are lulling me or others of my bulk I mean ilk, into a false sense of insecurity about our fatness. Believe me girth does not equal mirth, it's a security banquet that avoids the barbs reaching our enlarged hearts. 

Thinking back, there were signs all was not well, I was losing weight but shovelling in a nightly supper of a wispa gold, tube of wine gums and other sugary delights, had tingling feet and a middle of the night trot to the pot which I put down to a sensitive bladder and the menopause. I'd been quite spared in the menopause department with none of the hot flushes, mood changes and thinning hair etc, so I was prepared to put up with a little night music.  My partner and family were of course worried not least that I tended to go straight to bed on arriving home from work and had little energy for anything.  I had in fact become Diabetty and at risk of death from anything from stroke, heart disease or anything in-between.  I had quite literally, an inflated sense of my infallibility.  I hadn't seen a Doctor for a decade because my weight had become my captor and despite shifting a substantial amount of ballast from around 2007 to 2015 I had a long way to go to love me slender.

Anyway, here I am alive and kicking.  It took me until May 2016 to decide I was ready to join a gym and add exercise to my regimen of healthier eating (I've  been  veggie for years but liked bread, chips and all things carb) and looking after myself.  My phobia of the health care profession had long since disappeared - having to display one's nether regions to nurses daily has desensitized me from my fears and I found out that they wanted to care for me and help  me get well, not be repelled by my body size or lecture me. 

I used to love swimming but hadn't really swam for 40 plus years; now I enjoy swimming 10 lengths of the pool and have learned to swim under water and invested in a nose-clip and goggles.  I bought a swim dress wore it once and now have a leg suit - this doesn't hide my apron i.e. the apron of loose skin and fat that will never quite tighten up but I don't care, I don't want to swim wearing a gym-slip and if I offend your eyes too bad.  I joined the gym and thought I would use it for swimming but I actually enjoy exercising more than swimming - I have a personal trainer and have undertaken high-low intensity training, treadmill and exercise back and some floor exercises for my core. I go every other day and can honestly say I really get a kick out of it and it lifts my mood.  I still have the underarm tripe awnings that come with major weight loss but my arms and legs have tone and I am stronger both physically and mentally.

Sometimes I ask myself why I bother, I'm 60, I should just enjoy the time I have left  and then I remind myself that there are other people who don't get the chance to make the choice I had.   

When opposites contract

To be frank, until quite lately I have never paid very much attention to Northern Ireland politics; whilst I support the end of violence and the symbolic  rapprochement, the reality of putting diametrically opposed political parties into roles that demand them working together, while hating everything they each stand for is in my view ping-pong politics.  Bluster and fluster and then agree the carve up away from the cameras off the record and off the beaten track.

Then of course we have the petition of concern - the wild card or the joker in the wolf pack - depending which side you come down on and it's still all about sides. Except it isn't as the same side is either for or against to a point.  The point being stalemate, save face, or brass neck.  

The problem is, that the longer they all linger, posture, postulate, pettifog and procrastinate, the worse it gets for those who depend upon welfare benefits to survive - less than a MLA wage or an industrial  wage come to think of it; despite the tales of the greedy living high on the benefits hog, the reality is that we accept that it's quite  o.k. for (someone else's)  children to live in poverty - every child matters or do they?

Welfare reform - we either got the best deal or we didn't. Before the General Election, there might have been some leverage for the Unionists but Mr C is home in a boat and doesn't need any help in the galley from our MP's.  The don't needs their friends from the North but we still need their few quid to save us from sinking quips.

Word is that Gerry and Sinn Fein need to fight austerity from the hustings down south and in doing so kick out at the British  for having the cheek to set welfare policy here with no mandate - I call that Gerry Mandating considering despite the all-Island take the reality is that our friends in the Dail Eireann don't really help us balance the budget or pay towards the welfare bill.  I really couldn't care less if they opt for a cowboy supper or an Irish stew, they need to sort it out or we'll all be on bread and water.





 

Poverty

Poverty is relative and most of mine weren't the kind of poor that covers you like a mist of despair caught in the sinews and shiny bones of a hard life, little food and no love to show for it.  

They came from the work ethic of make do, never show the classlesness that surrounded the 'half-crown gentry' but buy the best you can in furniture and household goods - it didn't matter that the "good room" was never used as long as it was there for show or when the minister called or somebody died and needed to be laid out.

As a child I became aware of the clash of cultures my mum's side with the staunch Presbyterian, cake making and hushed voices and my dad the WWll army officer she met while he was stationed up the road, bright, bruised and highly intelligent with a menial job living in Northern Ireland light years away from his Birmingham roots.  Even as a small child I remember in great detail the tension and the rows and the interference of my aunts who always seen my mum as delicate and of not making old bones.  I also understood what shame was and meant.

Thinking back, he was proud, angry that my mum accepted handouts from her Aunt who had all the trappings of wealth and none of the happiness that it could bring. He didn't like the closeness or the exposure of his failure to provide and he couldn't cope with my mum's manic depression and all its trappings.  So he upped sticks in 1966 and we were abandoned.  

His plan, according to my sister who was at 16 to my 10 was that the Aunt would take us all in under her roof and make us grateful for her charity.  Bless my mum, ill as she often was, she knew that this wouldn't be a life for us - yes, we would be fed and clothed and I would be fat with a good coat, sturdy shoes and a number of Sunday costumes for Church that would be hot and uncomfortable. Oh and I forgot to mention, an uncle (her husband) who I learned much later wasn't as wonderful as I thought - indeed my Great Aunt on her death bed was able to say to me  that my dad "never liked  your Uncle having you on his knee when you were a wee girl" - even she knew, but like many families the proclivities of its members were open secrets and never discussed. 

Instead, my mum did her best in an era where we stood out as a long parent family and our neighbours were a mix of offering help and shunning us. I was bullied by the teenage lads next door - I thought as I was told that my dad had gone to England to get work only they knew he was living with his new beehive haired girlfriend 3 miles down the road and they had a bun in the oven - my half brother who I have never spoken to though have seen over the years from a distance. His mother, who was a shop assistant in the Newsagent's my dad managed was already carrying on with the cook in the local army barracks but when he moved out to the next posting, she left her unsuspecting husband and tied her apron strings to a new post. 

Back in those heady days of Poor Cow and Carnaby Street small town Northern Ireland wasn't quite so swinging and this was also long before the days of income support. My poor mum had to go to what was termed the Cruelty to Children and then be assessed for National Assistance. I remember her waiting every Saturday morning for the franked mail in a special envelope and a postal order from my dad £4 and 2 shillings - if it didnt come before the post office closed it was bad; if it didn't come at all it was worse as that meant having to ask family.

My Mum did her best to ensure I didn't miss out by that time my sister had given up the idea of university despite being quite brilliant having achieved a scholarship to the local grammar school - she experienced a different kind of poverty to me. She joined the civil service and her pay brought the joy of ice cream on a Thursday night and for me I think it was the start of my poor relationship with food and the fall and rise of comforting eating.

I became a warrior, the family protector the one who fought social security people who humiliated my mum even at 12 I was a formidable foe for anyone who messed my mum about. Anger and humiliation stays with you, in my view you get a chance to channel it for good or bad; looking back at a time I was very bad but got better when I was good.

I don't forget having little nor do I forget the bullying and sarcasm of some of the girls at school including some that had less than I had - deflection is a great banner.  I dealt with it by using my sense of humour, my wit and intelligence; I had great mates most of them boys and they had my back. I did well at school excelled at English and History; some great teachers but the sense of abandonment never quite went away and I spent a great part of my early adult life in "imposter mode" waiting for the tap on the shoulder " your kind aren't welcome here"  I have always been acutely aware of expected norms of behaviour and at times embarrassed for those who couldn't see that comments or behaviour put them in the poor box - just like me but I was better at covering it.

I am far from poor today and way off being anything like rich. I am the master of symbolic interaction and very few people get close enough to see the actual person. It's my choice of course and while I have lots of friends I don't do the house gatherings - not because I don't have a house it's a feature of my life from when we were ashamed to bring a friend in because we didn't have a television.  I kept up with things by reading newspapers it's surprising how you can feign having watched the latest Man From Uncle episode by reading the review in the 'Weekly News'. I remain an expert on Dr Finlay's Casebook as that was Sunday evening viewing at my Aunt's house looking back I see the young Dr Finlay as a champion of those with little - we need more of those people today.

I believe that poverty is a different beast today. I don't see it as having marked me for life but I do see that it invades my thinking and it took me to where I work now. While not quite a cloak it can be a sturdy coat that I wear when the mood takes me.

I think that every child regardless of her or his family circumstances deserves enough resources to eat, live and learn what is happening now in the UK is children being punished for being born into poverty and that is a crying shame. 

The Carrot and Kick of Welfare Reform

I was brought up in the 1960's  My dad who had his own demons from time spent in WWII, left my mum and my sister and I  my mum had recurring mental health issues from her experience of that war and whilst I will spare you the history, what I can say is that to my bones, the poverty and humiliation my mum's and my own, watching her dealing with National Assistance, the church and community and having to depend on handouts (the well meaning and the begrudged and the beholden) has remained with me. I may have achieved  things in my life but often find myself at the mercy of what I call "imposter syndrome" the metaphorical tap on the shoulder that reminds me of that time when only my ability to send myself up kept me from falling down. 


Now I don't claim to be an expert on the economics of welfare reform or the social, emotional or intellectual justifications by those in power (and earning a substantial crust from the fruits of our labour) of just how reducing the access of our most vulnerable citizens to what is already an unliving wage, in a time of recession, makes sense - economic or otherwise.

I agree that unemployment, economic inactivity and worklessness can take a terrible toll on health and wellbeing but, here's the thing,  being hounded off social security benefits into a wilderness of punishment and sanctions, when jobs are hard to find, harder to sustain and the traditional "survival jobs"  are now a  competition involving  the "newly unemployed" is just a social security smokescreen;  it is simply about reducing the benefit bill and  not about supporting long term unemployed people back to work or helping disabled people to access employment and learning that improves their wellbeing and quality of life. 

Mr Duncan-Smith cannot possibly equate his ability to live on £56pw with the reality of living in poverty as a child and being destined for poverty as an adult - this type of poverty gets into the sinews of a person and can dictate their life, life chances and the length of time they live; his simple argument about creating the right circumstances to get people off benefits and working through what can only be termed "carrot and kick" that is, we will pay prime contractors to deliver their brand of workfare to you and if you fail to succeed, they will help us to kick you - we won't punish them even though they are being paid to deliver - Donkeys making an Ass out of the system and still getting the prime carrots for their trouble.

The simple fact is that all those currently eligible for social security benefits have at some point in that critical path been assessed as eligible for them - wake up it's not their fault if they didn't get the help and support needed to get back to work within your timetable Mr Duncan-Smith it is the fault of those who at one time when everything was chugging along nicely didn't think to look at the damage to lives that such long term benefit dependence could bring.  So from eligibility to blame and shame and name and drain.  

Grate and denigrate the poor and the sick and the ill, shave off those wholesome, hard won   truffles onto the plates of the bankers and the tax-dodgers, the fraudsters and the rest.  Just don't try and fool us that your actions are for the common good - that is just too hard to swallow



 

THE SAVILE SILENCE NETWORK

ALL QUIET

Chain of Fools or House of Cowards?

I think a house of cowards is going to come tumbling down; 

Those who knew of Mr Savile's proclivities, witnessed them, failed to act and did nothing because those young women and children Mr Savile preyed upon were  not valued and objectified as "scruffy girls" - less value, damaged goods, easy picking, nobody interested enough to believe them and responsible for their "fate" because of their own behaviour, not deserving of concern or care.  In fact many were impressionable young people dazzled by celebrity and appearing on TV; this long before social media, the internet and easier access to the “stars”.  Others in hospital or mental health and institutional child care settings were a captive audience for an abuse of trust at a level and frequency that is yet to emerge as the web of silence unravels.

Mr Savile is dead, unable to be brought to account for his alleged proclivities and currently a useful vessel for anger, revulsion and blame; no matter how we feel about Mr Savile, there is no process in law at our disposal to try him in absentia or post mortem or provide him with the opportunity to engage counsel for his defence.   Accordingly, his behaviour and the antecedents which supported it must become the forensic evidence to bring those across and between institutions to be made accountable for their failure to act with decency and with a duty of care.

Those who fawned over,  gave, awarded and pressed upon  Mr Savile unlimited, unquestioned,  power and authority while overlooking the vetting required to be given an “appropriate adult” determination while it appears   knowing that his behaviour was at the very least questionable, are guilty of enabling his behaviour and sense of power to corrupt without fear of the consequences. 

 

If those with authority in the BBC in hospitals, in healthcare settings in mental institutions in care homes didn't challenge Mr Savile knowing of the risk he presented to the vulnerable, then they are guilty of collusion and of abusing the trust placed in their position; Those who deny the rights of others by saying nothing when they know those rights have been abused, are the “silent partners” of predators.

If there was a "trade-off" between his fund raising and sexually aggressive behaviour the cost has been borne by the victims who were in the care of those benefiting institutions.   They are not just victims of Mr Savile they are victims of institutional negligence and failure to protect children and young people and of course the desire to fill their charity boxes to carry out their good work.  It then seems that silence is indeed golden,  if you are not a victim of that silence. 

 

Institutions, must account for their failing to protect the vulnerable from a  known predator  and  must account for the collusion and the trade-off  for  both funds and viewing figures, and also for any personal gain financial or otherwise individuals working in or connected with these institutions derived from their connection in creating  pathways for Mr Savile and any others involved in his proclivities to sexually abuse children, vulnerable young people and others.  

Jimmy very definitely held all the cowards. 

The sound of Institutional silence

I don't propose to speculate on the alleged sexually aggressive behaviour of a deceased television presenter, marathon runner and champion of charities.  Clearly there isn't much speaking well of the dead right now as alleged victims, witnesses and others populate the airwaves and column inches; and some of the living might well be feeling a tad uncomfortable - guilty by association is a strong flavour.

Guilty by institutional blind eye turning might just turn out to be a dirty rotten stink that no amount of bleach, cleaning and steaming the carpets in the corridors of the BBC will clear.

If Top of the Pops was in fact 'Pick of the Tots' for a sexual predator, questions need to be asked not least about how young people  attending the recordings of the programme were  'picked' and how they were chaperoned while at these recordings.

What child protection policies and procedures did the BBC have in place and just how did presenters (if they in fact did) invite young people into their dressing rooms?  Were presenters and other employees ever given any rules on behaviour regarding minors?

Where there ever any complaints made by young people to BBC personnel or to the police? If yes, how were these investigated?

Where there ever any complaints made by employees or associates of the BBC regarding the conduct of TOTP presenters? if yes how were these investigated? 

Did the police ever interview BBC personnel regarding any allegations or concerns regarding the behaviour of TOTP presenters? 

If there was knowledge  "open secret' about alleged predatory behaviour of TOTP presenters, how high up the chain if command did this go?  Who was aware of the allegations or the rumours and where did any recording of concerns and actions go?

Was any TOTP presenter, production team member or any BBC employee or associate ever interviewed regarding allegations?

Was there ever a whistleblower or whistleblowers? If so was any action taken?

Is there any evidence of payments made to alleged victims or BBC 
employees or associates to prevent legal/criminal proceedings  or buy silence?


Is there any evidence of  collusion among a number of key individuals to "enable" predatory behaviour and or to cover it up?

Is there any evidence of a paedophile "ring" or multiple abuses of vulnerable children by multiple adults?

Clearly, the BBC has a lot to think about and ultimately a lot to answer - even providing the conditions which enable adults  to have unsupervised access to children and young people  without those adults being screened as to the appropriateness  of such contact, is totally wrong, unconscionable in fact.

The BBC  is proud of its investigative journalism, leaving no stone unturned in exposing corruption in all its guises. Perhaps it should examine its own conduct - whilst the named individual cannot be called to challenge his accusers, there are many questions for the BBC to answer that can't be buried and may very well haunt it for years.