Wednesday, 13 July 2011

I Have found a large thick cardboard box to use as a plaything or treasure chest. I was struggling with it and found a nice lady to help me home with it. She was chuffed when she realised I was the person who did the Cochrane wall message. We were talking about the cuts as she had just lost her position in the NHS as a chef in the mental health facility. She said she was even afraid to go on marches. I am not afraid to go on marches. I do not throw bricks through windows. I just paint signs and have found all the people I have met only decent people students, workers, teachers, people living their lives in a normal basic way now having their nails cut beyond the quick. And if this playscheme closes, that will effect me severely and shorten my day severely and shut down a blossoming part of my son's social life that is important to him. 80 million over three years to be saved by cutting 2000 child places in Camden alone. That is mincemeat compared to what they spend on war or the olympics or the royal wedding.
She will tell me more about the health service cuts from the inside. Also a good chef, doing the potato wedges and the fruit kebabs for Ben's party. Delegating this year.
The meeting was good. Good reports on Ben's attendance and grades and general attitude towards school and how he handled himself while I was away. All good, but falls on the deaf ears of Bushra. I find it hard to have someone who doesn't have a child judging my parenting skills and having so much power and so little experience. If she is going to knit pick with me, I can knit pick back. Most people would complain about her competence. Phoning at 11am to say....oh, we have a meeting at 4, did I tell you? No. Phoning at 215 and leaving a message to cancel the second meeting we had and then not phoning again for a few days. Crap in my book. Having a private conversation with my son. Telling me she will speak to me the next day about the contents and not calling for days until I phone and leave a message. Then she talks to my mother instead and tells her my son says we are fighting. He is six. He doesn't know what discussion is between two adults. Misinterpretation. Incompetence. It's enough. All the other people in the meeting were on my side. But I do not get that feeling about her and I find her incredibly disorganised!

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