What is Charity and what are charities supposed to do?


Dictionary.com defines it as noun, plural char·i·ties.
1. generous actions or donations to aid the poor, ill, or helpless: to devote one's life to charity.
2. something given to a person or persons in need; alms: She asked for work, not charity.
3. a charitable act or work.
4. a charitable fund, foundation, or institution: He left his estate to a charity.
5. benevolent feeling, especially toward those in need or in disfavor: She looked so poor that we fed her out of charity.
All those definitions evoke the traditional responses we have to the idea of charity. A process of those giving more to those who have less, but even within the dictionary definition we can see signs of a rights based approach - "she asked for work, not charity". The British people are notoriously generous with charitable donations, partly its caused by altruism, but often its an almost Pavlovian response to scenes of poverty and distress beamed in through our television screens. For most people, doing something practical to alleviate that poverty or distress isn't possible, especially when its happening half way around the world, so to give money is a way of assuaging the guilt we all feel upon seeing starving children whilst sitting in our warm, cosy, well fed homes. Whatever the reasons, its reassuring to know that people do care about others suffering and express it in the best way they know how, by donating funds towards established, organised support schemes. 
But how does it feel to be on the receiving end of charity? Particularly in the 21st century as sick or disabled people. Well, as a sick or disabled person that depends upon how eligible we are for charity. Cute disabled kiddies in need of wheelchairs do very well on a practical basis, it's something concrete to fundraise for and easy to understand for the donor. What it does to the child's long term perception of themselves and society is an entirely different matter, but there is at least a practical outcome to their need. Young men with learning disabilities and challenging behaviour are not all cute and cuddly and so do not evoke the same kind of empathetic response to their support needs, but older people going cold or hungry during the winter do. 
Often when I explain to people that I am not eligible for a wheelchair or other equipment they scratch their heads and ask if the charity for my condition can't provide me with one. This attitude is so entrenched that when being refused equipment or services Occupational Therapists often suggest approaching the charity for the condition the person has. We're back to the cute kids again who have a choice of charities to help them fund wheelchairs, and if an adult is 'lucky' enough to have a condition which is supported by a wealthy, powerful charity then they too may be fortunate enough to find that charity has funds to meet their specific need. However, that is not the case for the majority of us, particularly those with conditions perceived to be rare such as Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. There are two main charities in the UK attempting to support people with EDS, but they are small, asset poor charities who can just about manage to provide some emotional support and practical advice, mostly by using volunteers. Providing equipment or emergency funds is not something small, support charities can possibly achieve. 
The position of the main charities intended to support disabled people in the UK is deeply contentious amongst the population they are perceived to help. Charities have traditionally run large institutions in which horrific abuses have been perpetrated against vulnerable people. Some of these were the direct responsibility of the charities themselves who infantalised disabled people, frequently confining them to pyjamas during the day or communally owned clothing, but many were the inevitable consequence of warehousing people away from the main population, dehumanising them and opening them up to the abuses of people who thrive on controlling the powerless. This history, which in some cases is still evolving, means that there is a trust deficit between many disabled people and the organisations who purport to represent us. 
The public, understandably, still assume that charities are benevolent and supportive, whilst disabled and sick people are increasingly challenging the role of the charities, particularly their determination to gain large, government contracts relating to welfare or welfare to work. This determination to keep that funding by the charities has meant that many of them did not campaign effectively against the damaging nature of the current welfare and social care cuts;  certainly many disabled people believe that without the complicity of the main charities the government would not have been able to push through such a radical and damaging agenda, in the process labelling disabled people as scroungers and exaggerators. 


As grassroots disability rights campaigners it has been difficult and distressing to hear reports beginning to trickle in from bewildered, desperate people who have had their benefits time limited out of existence and are left without any idea of how they'll meet their basic costs of living. We have been warning of this outcome for two years and did not expect, but did hope that the charities would wake up to the reality of sick and disabled peoples lives to put contingency plans in place. Some charities already provide excellent welfare advice services and have stepped up that work, but typically that advice is condition specific, so if you find yourself diagnosed with breast cancer there is alot of support available but be unfortunate enough to be diagnosed with an embarrassing bowel disorder and you'll whistle in the wind alone. There are small charities doing sterling work to meet basic needs, on average two foodbanks opening each week. However, this support is inaccessible to most disabled people, as is the food provided, but I'm yet to see any announcements from the main disability charities of their intention to deal with this problem. 


For years disabled people have challenged this paternalistic attitude from our charities, alleging that this perpetuates our dependency and pitiable perception. Now we are reaching crisis time, the trickle of those losing the most basic state support is set to become a flood and we are yet to see charities move out of their politically correct language bubbles and into the grim reality of sick and disabled people going cold and hungry. There are specific and basic steps that charities could take, especially as this is one of the few sectors still regularly advertising work. That work could be aimed directly at sick or disabled people, working practices altered to enable us to work from home. Even the much despised workfare schemes the charities fell over themselves to receive funding for could, with a small amount of thought be used for the practical good of those the charities are meant to support. Social care is unavailable to all but the most disabled, and the charities are sitting on large pots of money intended to train sick and disabled people deemed fit for work. It doesn't take a genius to see there is an obvious, alternative route there. Who better than the charities to be aware of the unmet support needs of sick and disabled people? Who better than the charities to ascertain exactly what those support needs are? Who better than the charities to train up people in social care? Who has the funding to provide such training to the newly redefined as unemployed? Who better than those sick and disabled people who do feel able to work in such fields to provide that care to other sick and disabled people? Matching those two sets of needs together by listing who has become ineligible for social care and using the workfare funding to train carers to provide that care as they learn is a very simple, straightforward idea. There are all sorts of other simple, straightforward ideas out there but the main charities are so stuck in their paternalistic, damaging way of thinking and acting that sensible, pragmatic proposals just float off into the ether. 


Whilst practicalities are probably the most pressing issue for sick and disabled people, we also need to do much more to make our voices heard at a political level. This is particularly difficult to do for a population who tend not to get out much, to find travel expensive and inaccessible and who are often too poorly to do anything. Last year we wanted to try and attend each political party's conference, aware that the most important networking and lobbying is done in chance meetings at such events. We begged, borrowed and frankly scrounged* to enable some of us to attend. It was worth it just to see the look on politicians faces as we hurtled round, Sue and I sharing my mobility scooter shouting "Austerity measures, 2 for 1, cripples now sharing mobility aids". It's much more difficult to force through ridiculous cuts when confronted with the reality, 3 feet from your nose, helpfully pointing out to the entire conference the stupidity and inevitable outcome of such policies. More seriously, the opportunity to properly challenge Ed Miliband, the leader of the Labour party came from being able to attend conference, the success of which can be measured in the result of the Labour party finally altering the damaging and demonising language they were using to describe sick and disabled people


It came up in conversation with some of the charity representatives we met that many sick and disabled people wanted to attend conference, but were prevented from doing so by the costs and their support needs. One charity is more notorious than any other amongst disabled people for the abuses perpetrated in their care homes, so it was a small glimmer of light to see that this was the same charity most concerned about doing something practical to enable the population they represent. That glimmer of light became a chink when I recently heard that they have gone on to put the plan we discussed into action and will be running a competition to fund a place at each main party conference for a disabled campaigner, as well as meeting their support costs. As Wendy Tiffin a disabled campaigner and resident in a Leonard Cheshire home said;

“Going to party conference was a great opportunity to tell the Minister for Disabled People in person about the problems faced by disabled people locally and nationally and it really boosted my confidence in my campaign work. It is important that politicians hear from disabled people directly so that their decisions are influenced by real peoples needs. This programme gives an excellent opportunity for disabled people like me to do this.”
So, if like Wendy you would like the opportunity to lobby politicians directly at their party conferences all the details of how to enter are on Leonard Cheshire's website here
This competition isn't the answer to all the problems which beset the charities, nor is it enough to make up for the past abuses of that charity, but it is a very welcome, positive step towards the long journey to charities becoming user led organisations. 
I just hope that the other main charities see this and start to listen to the people they claim to support. The people the British public donate money to support. The people terrified for their futures, wondering just how they will survive next winter without adequate food, heat or shelter. The people most in need, but still furthest from the top of the charity priority list. 




*I'm still very grateful to the nice car park attendant who ensured free parking for the day

John Pring's Disability News Round Up - Week Ending 04/05/2012



  • One of the two disabled artistic directors of this summer’s Paralympic Games opening ceremony has spoken of the need to produce an “exquisite” demonstration of the talents of disabled artists and performers.
  • The first tantalising details of what promises to be a stunning Paralympic Games opening ceremony have been revealed by its two disabled artistic directors.
  • Tens of thousands of disabled people have lost all of their out-of-work disability benefits this week, thanks to new rules brought in by the government through its controversial Welfare Reform Act.
  • One of Britain’s leading Paralympians has led fierce criticism of the Sun newspaper for running front-page headlines that mocked the speech difficulty of the new England football manager, Roy Hodgson.
  • The UN disability convention is breathing new life into grassroots disabled people’s organisations across the world, leading Commonwealth figures have heard.
  • Disabled bloggers have posted their views about topics as diverse as sex, special education, assistive technology and the barriers facing disabled farmers, as part of the seventh annual Blogging Against Disablism Day.
  • Disabled activists who want to give evidence about newspapers that have stirred up hostility towards claimants of disability benefits appear to have been sidelined by the Leveson inquiry into press standards.
  • The government has refused to say what advice it has received from local councils and the Department of Health (DH) about the wider impact of its sweeping cuts to spending on disability living allowance (DLA).
  • A pioneering self-advocacy organisation this week celebrated the publication of a booklet that charts its 21-year history.
  • A new exhibition of photographs is showcasing the power of sport to inspire both disabled and non-disabled children, and highlighting the achievements of a key London 2012 international programme.

For links to the full stories, please visit Disability News Service

Naidex: Tea Tipping & Penis Pondering

It's been a long, long week. It was always a bit of an ambitious plan - after 6 months of pyjamas and barely venturing out, driving to Birmingham alone to go to Naidex,  the UK's biggest disability exhibition was optimistic at best.

Naidex was an interesting experience. It's the first year I've been, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to look at wheelchairs as well as meeting up with friends. The looking at wheelchairs bit was disappointing but meeting up with bloggers and tweeters I've known online for years was absolutely wonderful. I tried to explain how special it is to be in a group of women my own age who are all disabled to my friends that evening, that it was worth all the exhaustion to have that experience once in a while but I'm not sure it translated through the slurring and drooling.

The exhibition itself was really disappointing. It was extremely difficult to navigate around the exhibits, it wasn't laid out like a supermarket where you can follow a logical pattern and know you've been past all the choices, but on a grid pattern that wasn't quite a grid and didn't make any sense. Nor was there any attempt to put signage at wheelchair height, so by the end of the day my spine was traumatised from all the pressure tipping my head back to see things causes. Some of the stands were brilliantly accessible, others not so much. I was really excited to spot a stand displaying hot tubs/spa stuff as like many bendy people I'm a sucker for anything where hot water and bubbles are involved. However, this was my absolute favourite access fail as you had to climb up on a large step and peer over a wall to see what was presumably hot water and bubbles. I can't comment because I couldn't access it. Other stands were elevated slightly from the floor, the better ones had put in a thingummyjig I don't know the name for that means not having to try to get up a 2 inch gap in a wheelchair, but alot had not bothered to do so. Naidex is primarily aimed at professionals working in disability related fields rather than disabled people ourselves...so it was also packed with walkers who appeared never to have encountered one wheelchair user, let alone hundreds and didn't know they were supposed to look where they were going.

Some exhibitors were clearly aiming to interact more with disabled people than professionals and they were very impressive. I was fascinated by the specialist scooter storage sheds, which cost approximately £1600, and the men running the stand who got extra points for pointing out they can be applied for with a disabled facilities grant. The real brownie points came for their honesty in explaining the postcode lottery that goes with DFG's; apparently they go through without an issue in the south of the country, but once you're further north than Oxford not a chance. When I said I would need to apply in Wirral the guy just laughed.

I had a look at some wheelchairs, but ended up heading back to the Midshires stand to say hello to James Barnfield who did my powerchair assessment. Midshires were recommended to me by a friend on twitter as having given her good service without any pressure to buy. This was confirmed at Naidex as they got the issues with the battery on her powerchair sorted immediately, and unlike many companies it's fully covered by the warranty so won't cost her anything extra. The assessment James did surpassed my expectations in its detail and organisation, and although I looked at other powerchairs I have yet to see a model I like more in looks or function than the one he suggested. The nice director of Midshires got me a cup of tea, and after a chat off I went to find the trike stall a twitter follower had recommended. I'd like to apologise to the ever so nice man on the trike stall who didn't bat an eyelid when I tipped a full cup of tea all over his stand. As Stefania from Brandon Trust commented, this tea throwing is becoming such a habit its probably time to get a little sign put on my scooter saying "Do not feed tea" in a gremlin style!

The stall which most confused me was the one run by Disability Now. Disability Now is one of the best known disability magazines, funded by Scope, and I left their stand feeling deeply uncomfortable about the attitudes Scope were reinforcing at Naidex. Unlike other stands which were there to inform and educate, Disability Now had a pile of their magazines and a raffle to raise funds for Scope. That was it. No information about disabled people working as journalists, what the remit for DN is or anything except a confirmation to all the disabled people and professionals attending Naidex that we disableds are to be pitied and fundraised for. If this were a small, local charity I would have found fundraising entirely appropriate but from the UK's biggest and richest disability charity I found it shaming and depressing, especially at a time when promoting disabled people into employment is vital.

This contrasted sharply with many of the other stands and disabled people I met. There was a wheelchair using basketball coach who I got chatting too, his business is going into schools to raise disability awareness and teaching basketball. Empowering and educating. Pool Pods were also really impressive. Invented by a team of charming engineering types the pool pod is a system to enable wheelchair users to access a swimming pool without need for structural work. There were all sorts of blingy off road wheelchairs being displayed to show that those disabled people who can afford it can go anywhere, stands encouraging low cost disabled skiing, pretty walking sticks and all manner of innovative thinking. Except from Scope who gave the distinct impression they were operating in a different century.

One of the most exciting exhibits was the exo-skeleton suit that enables paralysed people to walk again.I stared, well frankly gawped at that...which definitely wasn't related to the relative attractiveness of the guys who'd built and were demonstrating it. Honest it wasn't. Nor was it anything to do with the surreal conversation about feet and penises. It was all down to the suit. Ahem.

After all that tea throwing and penis discussing it was time for the most important part of the day...lunch! It was wonderful to be in a place where a group of young women using mobility aids didn't attract any attention and to experience the understanding and support born of shared experience we're all able to offer each other. It was over all too soon, and conscious of limited spoons we all headed back off to have another quick look at the exhibits before going home.

Although we were only at Naidex for a few hours in a relatively accessible environment everyone paid a high price for their fun. My price was being so exhausted I went into 'marionette mode', jerking, stumbling and unable to move independently. I was collapsing to the point I couldn't speak or even respond to simple instructions and although dinner was brought to me I wasn't able to eat it. Later in the evening I had to literally be fed, complete with a soundtrack of chuffing train noises to lighten the mood! I was so knackered I couldn't even laugh which was probably for the best as I'd just have choked.

It was fantastic to meet up with so many friends and well worth paying such a high price, but it did make me wonder even more about the government's welfare 'reforms' aimed at getting disabled people into work. All of us who got together are educated, articulate, determined young women who would love to work. But we're also all so poorly that we'll need a whole week to recover from a few hours out. As one person astutely commented;

"All I need is to stop relapse/remit, give up A&E addiction (epilepsy), speak/type/think/stay awake properly. Easy. Go on, gizza job. Gizza" 







John Pring's Disability News Round Up - Week Ending 27/04/12



  • Concerns have been raised about how members of the public are being chosen to take part in the Paralympic torch relay – a major event in the lead-up to this summer’s London 2012 games.
  • New figures show the number of disabled people granted funds to make their workplaces more accessible has fallen sharply again.
  • A leading disabled people’s organisation has called on the disability movement to rally behind Remploy workers and fight the government’s planned closures of at least 36 factories, and the loss of more than 1,500 disabled people’s jobs.
  • Black and minority ethnic disabled people face a “disaster”, with deteriorating health, increased poverty, and lower life expectancy, if nothing is done to deal with their unmet needs, according to a leading disabled activist.
  • New figures show the proportion of disabled people found eligible for unconditional support under the much-criticised “fitness for work” regime is continuing to rise.
  • The minister for disabled people has defended plans that will see huge private sector companies fighting over contracts to carry out the new medical assessments that will determine disabled people’s eligibility for vital benefits.
  • The Department for Work and Pensions has been unable to produce any evidence to show that it has analysed the knock-on effects of its huge cuts to spending on disability living allowance.
  • A thalidomide survivor has been released from prison in the Philippines after serving nearly 20 years, thanks to a campaign led by a disabled activist and fellow survivor.
  • Four young people have spent four days travelling more than 800 miles around Wales on public transport, to raise awareness of the barriers they and other disabled people face.
  • Tributes have been paid across the disability movement to Lord [Jack] Ashley, the UK’s first deaf MP and a hugely committed campaigner for disability rights for more than 40 years, who died on Friday (20 April).

For links to the full stories, please visit Disability News Service

Do You Know What You're Asking? #BADD

I remember it vividly. My last day at work. Well, I say last day at work, more accurately my last day trying to go to work. I was yet to be diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and very unsure whether I was actually ill or somehow doing it to myself as everyone around me believed. 'Just try a bit harder' was my mantra, acutely aware that the job I'd worked so hard to get was in jeopardy if I didn't manage to overcome my sickness absences.

So, like any other work day I hauled myself from bed, trying desperately to ignore the shaking and waves of nausea. Dressed, limped to the car and set off. Still feeling terrible as I drove I desperately attempted to use mind over matter and convince myself I was fine. Turning onto the motorway, pulling into the fast lane....so far so good.

Until, without any warning I threw up. Repeatedly. Forcefully. Still in the fast lane, still travelling 70 miles an hour. Except I was now dripping with vomit. Everywhere. My clothes were soaked, the inside of the windscreen was running, and the steering wheel was overflowing with puke.* I was so focused on reaching work that I carried on driving. Thinking somehow, someway I could sneak into the building, clean myself up and do my day's work without anyone noticing.

It took another junction and the cold, congealing vomit I was sitting in to bring me round to the concept that there was no way of hiding this. I was saturated and stinking, didn't have any spare clothes with me and even working in an isolated office knew I could not get through the day without someone attempting to track down the source of the foul smell.

In that moment, as I pulled off the motorway and turned around to go home and clean myself up that I knew. This was the end of my job. My employers had been as accomodating as they could through all the failures of access to work, even trying to provide some protection by 'medically suspending' me in the hope the equipment ordered by AtW would actually turn up and had given me more paid sick days than I'd managed to work. Astonishingly they were still willing to find some way of employing me, but I still knew. This was it.

Somehow, despite my not having worked long enough to be entitled to an unpaid sabbatical my employers managed to arrange it. I had 12 months, after which I'd be guaranteed a job at the same grade and same hours I was working when I left. Not my job to go back to, but it would be a job. 

A year later I had been diagnosed with EDS, but I was far from able to return to work. I'd done my best to try and learn to cope with my condition but I was too ill, both mentally and physically to stand a chance. Decades of mistreatment by disbelieving medical professionals meant I found it impossible to find a rheumatologist, pain management or physiotherapy. I had no way of knowing if I would ever have that kind of support and no way of returning to the workplace.

Eventually I started to find my way back to living. I found the confidence to join an online forum for others with Hypermobility EDS, a small, supportive community rich with emotional and practical advice. I was so ill I had to learn to walk and talk again. Alone, without any professional support. I was so weak when I started that I couldn't even tolerate a full minute sat on a wobble cushion. It took months of adding 30 seconds a day to the wobble cushion time before I could even consider the challenge of relearning to walk. It would be several years before the magical day I managed to make it the 50 meters or so to the corner shop and buy myself some chocolate. It took four years to build enough confidence to consider starting this blog.

After five years I started to dream about working again. At various times I tried New Deal for Disabled People and Pathways to Work. They would talk alot about CV's and two tick schemes, but when I asked about professional retraining or whether they had links to employers willing to employ home workers I would be directed to photocopied job adverts for jobs I was physically incapable of ever doing. So, I wrote, I managed my condition, I learned all I could about anatomy, physiology, physiotherapy, speech therapy and I worked at it. Every day.

I learnt I could manage my symptoms if I listened to my body. I learnt that I could be happy, happier in fact than many of my able bodied friends living the life of career, marry, babies that like every other middle class girl I was supposed to grow up to do. I learnt of my community, our history, our common challenges and our differences. I learnt that I could pay forward the support which had been offered to me by a community of strangers. That in doing so I could feel worthwhile, like I was making a difference and contributing to society. I learnt that I could survive the bureaucratic insanity of the NHS and welfare state. I learnt never, ever to trust welfare advice after months of receiving the incorrect benefits plunged me into debt. I learnt to learn the rules myself.

It started to feel as though there was light and hope. And then, the Coalition government were elected. I learnt that they intended to target sick and disabled people's vital support in a way more extensive than any of us could have dreamed. Along with a tiny minority of our community I learnt that this targetting was dreamed up by people with no concept of living without vast resources, no idea of the reality of life with chronic health problems or the huge, yawning chasms in the existing 'support' systems. I learnt that these decision makers were clueless, which made them callous and cruel. Cruel enough to even consider condemning some severly disabled people to their beds.

Over the next two years I learnt exactly what determined, angry and organised people can do. I learnt that those of us who've learnt how to pick ourselves up from the darkest of places, over and over again, will always find a way to do so again. I learnt a sense of fierce protectiveness for others in my community, for those more sick than I, for the children yet to join us, for those so utterly voiceless that being tortured is their daily experience.

I made new friends and learnt how powerful a bond people can form with each other through the commonality of exclusion. We learnt new skills, politics, strategy, PR, policy and precedent. We had all learnt that most basic of lessons; that its always worth a try. With this in mind we ran national campaigns, lobbied parliament and Peers, developed our own media, rationalised and reasoned. When we were ignored I learnt we could come together to produce our own evidence.

The Spartacus Report was born of desperation and tears. Speaking to Sue on the phone she mentioned we should probably pay more attention to the DLA reforms. I cried. And cried, and cried. With exhaustion and hopelessness. And so we agreed. The one with slightly better health than the other would lead, and the other donate brain time every day. And so we did. Others joined us, all of us working desperately, primarily from bed. We had no idea we were creating an entirely new form of protest, a 'from bed activism' or an entirely different, radical new way of working for sick and disabled people. We had no idea because we could barely get through each day.

Sue's in hospital now, being fed by tube and waiting for surgery. She's my friend so I don't want to think about how poorly she really is or what that might mean. It goes both ways, she doesn't like to think that about me either. Yesterday we talked on the phone and tried to remember last year. We recalled multiple courses of antibiotics for both of us. For me a plaster cast on my wrist, a serious fall from my wheelchair, the day my neck became so unstable I feared waking up a quadriplegic, the rotated vertebrae which still move around disconcertingly and of course the having not been able to speak properly since October. We remembered that there was much, much more we couldn't remember. We remembered the days of having to keep hanging up the phone as neither of us could get off the loo, of reaching a point that we wouldn't bother to hang up while one of us vomited, and the days one of us was so fearful the other might die that we'd just stay on the phone. In case. So there was someone to phone an ambulance.

Throughout all this we both tried to convince ourselves we were fine. That somehow, being in pyjamas, usually opiated more than halfway to oblivion while we worked couldn't damage our health. We worked harder at convincing ourselves of that than almost anything else. That, and that there would definitely, totally be some way, somehow from this that we'd be able to earn enough working from home to not have to rely on benefits. That we'd find an employer somewhere who wouldn't mind the sick. Or the poo. Or the medication. Or the occasional declarations of wanting to be a duck.

Unsurprisingly it hasn't ended brilliantly for either of us. 

Last night my larynx collapsed again and I choked. Alot. Unattractively, coughing and vomiting into a bucket brought to my bed. I'm staying with friends, at home I'd have coughed and vomited onto my bed and had no choice but to sleep in it. Here I get a bucket brought to me. That's spoonie luxury.

The thing is, I'm with friends in Birmingham so that I can go to Naidex. The idea was to go and look at wheelchairs, then meet up with other friends for lunch tomorrow. I planned it all very carefully. Drove here on Sunday, spent all of yesterday resting. But then there was the choking thing. And the definitely aspirating some of the vomit thing. Then the waking at 6am to do some full blown vomiting thing.

So, now it's gone 10am and I'm still here in my slightly sicky smelling pyjamas. There's definitely puke in my hair, so I can't go anywhere without washing that out. I also can't get it together enough to have a shower and wash my hair, let alone find the skills to control 2 tons of metal on the roads, so there won't be any wheelchairs for me today. Instead I'll stay here on the sofa, I'll try not to worry too much about my sick Suey in hospital, or any of my other poorly friends and force myself to focus upon the lessons learnt in the past nine years.

And I'll do my absolute best not to think today about the 40,000 sick and disabled people deemed fit to do some work at some point, with the right support, who lost their benefits yesterday. The people who've worked hard, paid tax and national insurance. The people with conditions like cancer, Parkinsons, MS or bi-polar. The people who's contributory Employment Support Allowance ended yesterday when the twelve month time limit was brought in to apply retrospectively. I'll try not to think of them, not to think of the potential problems to come when Personal Independence Payment comes in. I'll try not to think, with guilt of the nine years I've had to learn to adjust to living life with both disability and chronic ill health. I'll try not to think that even with all that experience, the ability to manage my symptoms, that reality just doesn't work that way. Try not to think of however hard I try, still being too sick and disabled to function.

I'll try not to think any of that, because if I do, all that will come is fear and tears.

And I'll try hardest of all not to think if politicians really know what they are asking sick and disabled people to do. I'll try not to think that, because the terrible, terrifying answer is that yes, they do. And that a ruthless, brutal form of Darwinism means they have every intention of doing it anyway. 




*Huge apologies to Hossylass, the next owner of that car, who is hearing the puke story for the first time and probably realising that it's the source of the crud it was impossible to clear out of the steering wheel!