• A Life in the Day of MorningStar

    5 days ago 9 comments

    I've led an incredible life, one too incredible to keep telling, so I'm putting it all here in brief. Buried among the rest of my stuff it will tell my story until I'm ready to write my book. One day I will, but until then.

    Born Jan 1967, same year as Radio One and BBC2 colour

    This was on at the time. I dont remember it, thankfully :-)

    That however is my first clear memory.

    It was playing on the radio while I sat in the lounge playing with blocks in the first house, summer 1968.

    Knocked over by HRH Duke of Edinborough in his Bentley aged 2

    I grew up in Midhurst, home of International Polo in the UK and host to the Royal Family when Prince Charles played. Waiting at the exit gates after a match, I pulled away from my mother and ran under the tapes, right in front of the car as he drove out. Luckily, he didnt actually hit me as he was moving slowly and I fell in front of the car as he stopped. I do dimly remember it, just an impression of grass and crowds, and all that chrome...

    Reprimanded for painting exclusively in black at kindergarten

    According to the playgroup organiser I was very timid and waited for the other more boisterous children to finish with the paints, leaving only black. I remember a child therapist talking to me about it but back then I couldnt explain whats become a long habit, painting in white on a black background. Its something of a signature today, my artwork is instantly recognisable from the style it developed into. I should point out that if the organiser had paid attention, she'd have noticed I didnt paint in the muddy brown thats left after children get into colours...

    Started taking my toys apart aged 3-4

    Anything that could be disassembled by hand was, and then reassembled to see how it worked and was constructed. Another long habit, I began by not breaking things, and then learning to fix them when they stopped working, and moved on to fixing anything that I could get my hands on.

    Jumped 15 foot off Hayling Island sea wall, broke both feet aged 5

    Work on the sea wall, Hayling Island

    My brother dared me, and I didnt know it was concrete under a layer of sand up by the wall, the rest of the beach was soft and luxurious. I spent the rest of the family holiday in one of those hideous blue disabled buggies with my feet in bandages. I dont think my father ever forgave me for that.

    Goal-judged and scored Polo at Cowdray for Prince Charles aged 8-9

    There isnt much of a goal for Polo. Two wooden posts set in the ground, strong enough that a horse cant knock them down. There's no net either, the horses can run right through the goal so there's a spotter to see if the ball does too. My job was to stand behind the goal post and signal in or out depending on which side it passed me, and there's two posts to check. Its quite an experience for a kid to hide behind a tree while the cavalry charge past, preceded by cannon fire. The ball is solid wood and travels over a hundred miles an hour off the stick, so you had to be small and fast for it, and Polo ponies arent ponies either. It beat a paper round for pocket money tho ;-)

    Apparently its impolite to use human beings as royal target practice now. XD

    Chosen to play hockey for a school training film aged 9-10

    I showed an aptitude for hand-eye coordination quite early, but I was never keen on team games. Hockey was kind of fun, so when the school was approached to make a training film I volunteered for the team. It was boring as hell, but it got me out of English Class.

    There endeth my acting career...

    Recorded by music teacher after class and played as inspiration to the others aged 9-10

    Miss Dewes, a young and pretty music supply teacher was so taken with my choirboy tones she asked me to stay behind during lunchtime so she could record it. I turned pink and agreed, and managed to do a passable impression of Once in Royal David's City, which she duly recorded after a...

    Read more »

  • Hiatus

    08/04/2018 at 21:56 0 comments

    Halfway through a weekend without Bea, and I miss her. Its been literal decades since I was able to go out on Saturday night, and I'm sat in like she's safe and sound upstairs in bed.

    As far as I know she's safe and sound, Monday I'm going to go see her at Daycare. As it stands, she's being cared for at a local care home. Not the usual one, but she knows staff from this one so she will muddle along.

    I made an alarming discovery yesterday. The social worker hasnt done a thing about the accommodation, and has left the Council bidding on a magic cottage in the woods. I'm not sure what his game is here, because Bea will not return to my care until both her personal care and accommodation are appropriate, and the longer she stays on Respite, the charges keep ticking up and up. With the specifications left as they are it will be years before a suitable property becomes available.

    Eventually, the Benefits Agency will also realise they are paying me to slack off and sanction me, and the council will levy charges for the empty room and eventually threaten eviction for non-payment of rent. And sometime after that, I wind up in court for non-payment.

    Thats the last place they want me, I've been trying to find a way to drag their sorry arses in there for years over compensation and ongoing rights abuses...

    As soon as I go and see her, I know the first thing she will do is ask me to take her home, and as her advocate I'm duty bound to make that clear to the social worker, who is duty bound to provide proper care and accommodation. That means a female carer in her own home, which has adaptations to make her life easier.

    It doesnt matter what any of us think, or what our agendas might be. Bea's voice is heard.

  • Rebeginnings

    08/03/2018 at 07:38 0 comments

    Mental illness isnt funny, dont let anyone tell you otherwise.
    Some people are just loopy, and deliberately say things that disturb others' ordered trains of thought. Most of them make it onto a stage at some point, or at least earn a comfortable living in politics.
    Jokers.
    The rest of us poor bastards got here by being under immense stress.
    This is what is takes to get recognition. And no, not recognition for my work either, recognition for my humanity.

    Never mind what these hands of mine can do, they should not be engaged in the day-to-day personal affairs of a woman, its inappropriate. Its always been inappropriate, but attitudes seem finally to be changing. Year before last, the summer before I joined HaD, I was reported for grooming a disabled person after being witnessed playing guitar in a local park, while Bea messed around playing football and having lunch. The social care system treats her as my wife, most people guessed she was my sister on first encounter unless I told them first.

    She's my daughter. Any father of teenage girls can tell you what hell that is. Boyfriends, clothing sanctions, secretive behaviour. I dont have any of these problems luckily, but Bea has no personal modesty and will walk into a room. Having to deal with that has caused some psychological damage, its f*ed my libido lol.

    There's only one cure, according to convention. ;-)

    Its Friday, Bea's in care until further notice because the social worker cant find carers to come in and handle her personal care, and I suppose I should be out chasing the ladies around. Dont really feel like it, every time I do they turn out to be not worth the trouble. Some of them were absolutely mental, and they've made me wonder why I even bothered in the first place.

    Things could be worse though, there's now an investigation into the corruption that caused me to get like this. The social worker has backed down about unpaid care, and is now lying through his teeth about threatening me with destruction of my work, property and reputation, again. He's also backed down about the accommodation too, allegedly a move is imminent.

    It had better be...

    Meantime, I'm just sitting here twiddling my thumbs and waiting for my brain chemistry to return to normal. I had a stress breakdown I suppose, there are limits to what a mind can take. My concentration is improving and short term memory with it. Takes time, I'm still denied clinical treatment for some obscure reason, I havent been offered antipsychotics, antidepressants or sedatives at any time. I'm just left to my own devices, literally ignored while I 'recover'.

    Decide what to do next...