Tag Archives: UK

UK Government murdering vulnerable people

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Atos have been under fire for a while now. Recently there was a case of someone in a coma being “invited”* to attend an interview for either a health assessment or to find out why she hadn’t got a job (I don’t remember the exact details).

The DailyHateMail had been fighting for some time to stop the “scroungers” on benefit from obtaining money by which to live. Using provocative language, they regularly “out” those who have been convicted of benefit fraud and, in doing so, get people to think that everyone who is claiming benefit is a scrounger who doesn’t want to work.

The “fit for work” assessments have been proved to be excessive and morally wrong.

So, although today, the same paper does have this article about a man dying as a result of Atos declaring him fit to work and the DWP stopping his benefits, one has to wonder why it isn’t the main item or, even, why it isn’t given as much prominence as those (few) that are found to be cheating the system?

The headlines should read as I have put in my title. It is outrageous that, in the 21st century, vulnerable people are being murdered by the state. This was what Dickens wrote about and here we are, a hundred-odd years later, having the same kind of compassion.

Truly dreadful. Makes me ashamed to be British.

Fucking politicians.

When “hot” doesn’t mean “hot”

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I’m not talking about the weather. No. That is as cold as the tip of an Eskimo’s nose. Winter is arriving, for sure.

No, I’m talking (again) about differences between Italians and the English.

If you live here, can you remember the last time you had a really “hot” meal cooked by an Italian? I don’t mean “spicy” hot but hot hot. More like boiling hot. So hot that you had to cool it down by blowing on each forkful.

No, I didn’t think so. Meals, here, are regularly served on cold plates – the food itself hardly piping hot. The only exception to this is, sometimes, meat, served on a sizzling hot plate or, at one restaurant where they used to serve thinly sliced Branzino (Sea Bass) on such a hot plate that they had to warn you about it.

At the weekend, in partial preparation for a move, I was cooking stuff from the freezer. I found a Mincemeat and Apple Plait that I had made to use up the last of the mincemeat I had and some of the apples that we always buy at Christmas (and then leave to rot in the fruit bowl). I thought F might like it. And I made custard to go with it. Not a lot because (I thought) F doesn’t like custard.

I cooked the Plait and timed it just right so that it was ready to come out as we finished the main course.

In fact, F did want custard – and as much as I could give him – which was a bit of a bastard as it meant that I had much less and, if I had known, I would have made a full pint rather than half a pint :-(

But, he wouldn’t eat it.

He put it outside, on the windowsill, to cool down. I was quite shocked. I asked him why. He told me that he can’t eat hot deserts and had I not noticed that Italians don’t do hot deserts which, now that he had mentioned it, was true!

“But why can’t you eat it when it’s hot?”, I asked. Apparently, it’s bad to put hot things in your stomach. Who knew that, all my life I have been doing something so bad for me? And why wasn’t I ill more often?

And then, today, as I was eating my lunch in the canteen, I bemoaned (to myself, obviously) that everything is served fairly tepid on cold plates and, so, you don’t actually eat “hot” food. I was eating cauliflower which was almost cold. Partly because it was only tepid when served and then because the plates are actually cold. And that’s true (with the exceptions I’ve mentioned above) in restaurants too!

Perhaps it’s a climate thing? It’s certainly a cultural thing. And, again, we come back to the weird beliefs Italians seem to have about your health and what is good or bad for you.

In the UK, serving anything it was expected to be on hot, or at least warm, plates. And if it were piping hot, then that was better. But not here. Or, having just spoken to my colleagues, not for many people and, certainly, not for F.

Having spoken to my colleagues, I find that there are a few (but only about 3 or 4) sweets that are served hot. Unlike in the UK where, apart from during the summer, nearly all sweets are served hot.

And on warm plates so that they keep warm.

Sometimes, I miss certain things. This is one of them.

Italians are a strange bunch!

It would make one think, except it doesn’t really.

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I’m not a dooms-monger as such but, let’s be perfectly honest, I’ve been smoking since I was 11 (and smoking about 30 per day since I was about 25); I drink (not necessarily excessively but several times a week); I don’t exercise (strolling out with the dogs is hardly strenuous exercise) and I don’t watch what I eat (including sugar, fats, red meat, etc. – all my favourite things are bad for you).

OK so I don’t slouch in front of the TV every night but I do sit a lot, including in front of the computer.

So, to me, it’s quite reasonable to assume that, in the nicest possible way, living to, say, 100 is unlikely.

And so I’ve been trying to sort out my pension. Given all sorts of circumstances, including the likelihood that I may not actually reach retirement age, means I should think about the pot of money that is mine but, should I die, almost disappears if I leave things as they are.

I would like F to get it. And it’s not nothing (to my great surprise). So, I’ve been trying to get it moved from the UK.

However, during this attempt, I was asked to fill in an online form to give an indication (not a guarantee, of course) of the age to which I could expect to live. You answer all sorts of questions and then, at the end, they suggest an age that you may get to.

I was quite shocked when it came back to mid-seventies!

More or less, that’s another 20 years!

Of course, I could get run over by a bus tomorrow (although I would prefer if it didn’t happen) and it doesn’t say that I will be quite healthy until I’m in my seventies.

But, still, it would make you think – if only I could see that far ahead. I’m not really good a projecting into the future. I’m more of a “right now” person.

So, whereas it brings a smile to my face (also an amount of smug satisfaction), it will soon be forgotten.

But I might, after all, become really old!

Who’s reading this?

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The headlines read:

Migrants contribute £25bn to UK economy, study finds

and

How migrants from outside Europe leave a £100billion hole in the public purse: Amount taken in benefits and services is 14% higher than money put back

They come from different newspapers, of course.

In the detail, compare “Other immigrants [from outside the EU] paid about 2% more than they received.” with “Immigrants from outside Europe have taken £100billion more in benefits and services than they paid back in taxes, a major study revealed yesterday.” Why the difference?

The first statement looks at the 10 years from 2001 to 2011; the second over a 16-year period.

And, “Recent immigrants were 45% less likely to receive state benefits or tax credits than people native to the UK and 3% less likely to live in social housing” but “According to the data, migrants are 20 per cent more likely to be claiming work tax credit than Britons. One in seven people claiming the benefit is a non-UK national.”

Hidden towards the end of the article in the second newspaper is “Professor Dustmann and his colleagues said: ‘Immigrants arriving since the early 2000s have made substantial net contributions to public finances, a reality that contrasts starkly with the view often maintained in public debate.'”

Of course, it’s all spun according to the main viewpoint of the newspaper and their readers. Let’s be honest, most people just read the headline and maybe the first two paragraphs – which will confirm what they already believe.

Personally, I’d call it “manipulating the facts”. From both of them.

Why I was in the UK – NOT ignoring friends, exactly.

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It isn’t that I meant to snub all my friends but this is inevitable when you go “back home”.

I mean, I was going back for Best Mate’s 40th birthday. She hasn’t been so well over the last few years and, although I intended to stay for the weekend, I didn’t know how she would be and whether I would a) be with her the whole time or b) if she was up for “nights out with friends”.

So, I couldn’t take the risk and chose not to tell anyone I was going back. If I had, I would have had people trying to make arrangements to see me – which, in other circumstances I would have loved, but, in this case, would have just been hassle, particularly, possibly, for her.

In the end, I spent the whole weekend with her (also her kids and her Mum and Dad). We met one mutual friend in passing in Hay-on-Wye and sat and had a drink with her and chatted for a bit, which was lovely but, it was Best Mate’s birthday weekend so, for me, anything she wanted was what we did.

And it was really lovely. She seems much better now and it was so good to spend some quality time with her.

As we discussed (and have discussed many, many times before), there would appear, on the surface, to be no good reason why we are best friends. Nobody ever really understood why we were and since we don’t really understand either, it’s difficult to explain. And yet, within about half a day of our first meeting all those years ago, we had a “connection” and, even if we don’t speak or see each other so often, the moment we are together again it’s like we’ve never been apart from each other.

It’s all so easy and we can just relax in each others company.

And I like that. A lot.

I’m hoping she is on the first steps to a full recovery and that, maybe, I can see a bit more of her in the future.

In any event, to me she has always been and will remain a star.

Some English words. Well, not really but, as they say, you learn something every day.

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You see, being in a foreign country, I’m actually learning more English than I would if I were still in the UK.

Take one of those words.

Lacksidaisical. Great word, isn’t it. Meaning lazy/not paying attention.

Except it’s not. I’ve used this word so many times over the years. Pronouncing it lack – see – daisy – ical. No one has ever said, “no, you’ve got it wrong.” Of course, I’ve never actually written it down as I’ve never had to use it when writing but, if I had, I would have spelt it as I did above.

Today (courtesy of Lola) I find that after 40-odd years of using it, I would have spelt it wrong if I had written it and, worse, I’ve been pronouncing it wrong all this time! It is, of course, lackadaisical. There is no “see” in it at all! In fact, neither in the spelling nor the pronunciation is there an “s” after the “lack”!

And then there is the word “cutch”. We used it in my family a lot. “Give me a cutch,” we’d say, meaning give me a cuddle or a hug. Or, “cutch up to me” – cuddle up to me.

Of course, we lived on the Welsh border and so, I suppose, it was inevitable that we would “borrow” some Welsh words. And, previously unbeknown to me, this is a Welsh word and, in fact, the word is cwtch (the “w” sounding like an English “u”).

So, all this time, I knew some Welsh words (I think there were others that we used but don’t remember them now).

Do you have any words like this?

Neither here nor there?

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I wrote a post just over a month back about the feeling of not belonging in Italy..

Last Thursday, I went back to the UK.

Well, I say the UK. It actually felt like I had stepped into some sort of theme park – and not in a good way. I would call it the “Daily Mail Land”.

Of course, there’s nothing I could put my finger on, exactly. I mean, the countryside was as wonderful as ever. The beer was great. Some of the food was wonderful and I miss that. It was all much “tidier” than Italy, which was nice. But I think it was the people. As if all joy had been squeezed out and it left a miserableness that couldn’t be hidden by the falseness of the shop assistants over-friendliness, the bar staff trying to make you feel that you were the most important customer in the world, etc.

It was like everyone had just come off a Customer Care course but it just felt like “let’s pretend”. None of it felt “real”.

I don’t belong there either. So, if I don’t belong there and I don’t belong there, where do I belong?

And I missed Italy. Not just for F and the dogs. I missed the food, the life, the enjoying of life. And, more than ever, coming back felt like coming home.

I bought lost of things. Too much to fit in my suitcase and so Best Mate will be posting it to me.

And the time I spent with Best Mate – just hanging out – was fantastic.

But,in spite of that, it get’s harder to go back each time I do it. Next time, it’s for a wedding party and I go with F. So let’s see if that is any better.

Unbelievable!

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I’ve always found it somewhat amazing that, when someone finds out their partner has been having an affair, that person often attacks the person who has been with their partner and not their partner.

I don’t understand.

You can’t blame the “other person”. If your partner has strayed then the problem is surely with either your partner or your relationship or you or all of the above. Therefore, to attack the “other” seems quite stupid and unproductive.

I’m reminded of this by this morning’s online Daily HateMail. It suggests that the Guardian were wrong to print details about the NSA story and even more wrong to allow the “sensitive personal details” of UK agents to be carried across borders. In fact, it is calling for the Guardian to be prosecuted.

And, to me, this is a little like “my partner’s having an affair so I’ll attack the other person”.

If any prosecutions were to be made let’s go to the source of the problem.

The Guardian got the data from Snowden. Snowden was a contractor working for a company that was employed by the NSA. In fact, many, many contractors work with the NSA. If one of the contractors took some information, surely the responsibility for that lies with the NSA. The NSA have the responsibility to make sure that everything they do and everything they hold is “secret” – i.e. not available to the public. That’s their job, isn’t it?

So, whether it’s right for them to obtain this data in the first place is not the point. If their job is keeping secrets safe, and some of those secrets got out, it makes them:

a) crap at the job they’re doing and
b) responsible for the leak.

So, surely, they’re the ones that should be sued?

But, of course, the British Government can hardly sue the secret agency that the British secret agencies are helping. I mean that would be stupid, wouldn’t it?

However, bringing it back to my analogy, surely one should be looking at the “relationship” and trying to fix the problem with that!

G*y Best Friend?

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Nearly all my best friends (although I only have one “Best Mate”) tend to be straight females. Some are straight males. Absolutely none are gay males.

So I’m disappointed to see that Tesco seem to have pulled the chance for me to have a gay best friend of my own! :'(

Read all about it here and tell me who wouldn’t want an gay male blow-up doll? Hahahahahaha

Where is our Charles Dickens?

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Whilst I was on holiday, as I’ve mentioned, I read many books, including one of Dickens’.

Dickens was very much a social commentator of his time. Many of his books show the greed of his fellow man, the cruelty and, more often than not, the social injustice that we understand was prevalent in Victorian times. If you were rich, you were fine but God damn you if you were poor. If you were poor, you relied on handouts, were thrown in jail for becoming bankrupt (even if it was through no fault of your own) and, as a last resort, there was always the poorhouse.

There was no such thing as “social security”, since there was no security. Some rich people gave money to help the poorhouse but most did not. The people running the poorhouse would not think twice about starving the poor they were supposed to be looking after – “Please sir, may I have some more?”

His idea was to give a nudge to society, a wake up call, to change things.

And they changed. Particularly during the 50s, many things were introduced to change people’s lives for the better. We had a National Health system, there was help when you became unemployed, no one had to be homeless. There was a safety net. We no longer have poorhouses and people are not so desperate that they had to rely on handouts.

Erm, well, now it seems that in the UK (and elsewhere, including here), we seem to be proceeding towards a Victorian era again. Social security benefits are often referred to as Benefit handouts (with no sense of irony) by the DailyHateMail. Food banks exist. I mean to say, food banks EXIST! How is that possible? How, some centuries after Oliver Twist asked for a little more tasteless gruel, did people become unable to feed themselves but instead have to go to places to be handed food just to stop themselves from starving?

People like Tiny Tim are again alive and, erm, not well. In fact, once they get to working age they are, more often than not, considered to be “fit to work” and so get their “benefit handouts” stopped to “encourage them” to find work.

There will always be people who will “crack” the system to gain more at the expense of others. People who will cheat the system. The focus, for some, is the so-called “benefit scroungers” but, surely, the tax avoiders/dodgers are the ones from which the most money will come, if you’re really serious about improving the lot of the country in general?

Dickens was a great political commentator allowing people to read his stories and find within them the necessary moral statements. Of course, not everyone would read his stories. After all they made uncomfortable reading. I mean, children starving – not a nice thing to read about, is it?

What we need now is another Charles Dickens. A Charles Dickens of our time. Instead of the White Knight or Robin Hood, where is our Charles Dickens when you need him?