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Ineligibly Emaciated

April 10th 2009 13:15
I believe that we have a humanitarian crisis looming in Belfast and across Northern Ireland.
We have some really sad stories here from some our fellow European citizens in Belfast who have found themselves unemployed and because their work has been short-term, temporary contracts or via recruitment agencies they don’t meet the benefit eligibility criteria not having been on the workers registration scheme for one year etc;

Of course the jobs situation is now dire and the temporary work has dried up and many we placed into employment have lost their jobs. Not all are in a position to go home and for some here is home now - this is particularly evident for some of our older single male Eastern European clients. One (and I acknowledge perhaps more extreme example) a man in his early fifties who had to flee Romania/Hungary in 1999 and at the time of EU (2004) enlargement was seeking asylum in the UK, has no job, no money at all and is very definitely falling into mental and physical ill health – he is emaciated and it heartbreaking to see him deteroriate physically and mentally; he is a Chemical Engineer and speaks 4 languages but only had temporary jobs and volunteering since bcoming to Belfast from London 2004.


Many economic migrants made their home here and also contributed as employees and volunteers.

We now have a new criteria the “ineligible destitute” and of course a political hot potato (which unfortunately is not part of a hot meal for them) which no government agency wants to deal with and no one voluntary agency is able to deal with and we need to be really sensitive about highlighting individual cases in the media as these folks are already vulnerable to racist attacks and increasing a profile could result in the wrong sort of attention.


We are signposting these vulnerable folk for help as we don’t have any funds in our small charity whatsoever to provide financial assistance (other than from our own pockets which is happening too).

How do you offer help to a fellow European citizen and fellow human being who is starving before you and becoming more and more emotionally unwell when this person despite working and volunteering because of "the rules" is not eligible for public assistance? How do you get someone somewhere to listen and make changes, who can see beyond numbers and boxes to the real human need? How do you continue to do your job when you can't offer any help to someone who is losing hope and may ultimately lose their life because they don't meet the eligibility criteria?

This is the reality of the recession for those at the bottom of the heap, no job, no home no money, no help and no hope. Perhaps if reality TV would like to film the real reality of those people who are forgotten and what it is like to try and exist on nothing and have your dignity and self worth eroded by having to steal serviettes in the food line to be able to blow your nose?


I am not scare-mongering I also know that on the ground there are with the unemployment situation and currently “contained” community tensions at interface areas, that there is an emerging concern that Black Asian and Eastern European people are (if not already) becoming the focus of anger from those who have lost their jobs as a result of the recession or who just need to blame someone “different” for their situation


I am so very sad, so very angry and I know others who do similar work share the same concerns - watch this space and Happy Easter
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MATURE CONTENT
   


Fattitude

March 30th 2009 23:38

This blog starts with a prequalifying statement; I have never made any secret of the fact that I am overweight – it doesn’t weigh me down nor does it prevent me functioning as the Chief Executive of a charity that helps people who experience labour market disadvantage to maximise their potential to secure sustainable employment. It doesn’t prevent me functioning as a wife, mother and grandmother and it doesn’t get in the way of the other bits of being in a relationship with my significant other.

In fact whilst my weight does not define who I am, it does however for some create the need for some to prefix my name when describing me with the word “Big”. Now of course it could mean “big heart” “big giver to charity” “but I am astute enough to know that it’s my body size that gives me this additional tag.

Truth is I am big enough to stand my own corner and have long held the view that those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter. I absolutely cringe at those size acceptance websites and News Groups particularly those BBW sites and the men aka chubby chasers. I have been fat most of my childhood and all of my adult life and I never felt the need to stand in line like a link of sausages waiting to be picked by some chunky chipolata connoisseur – puts a whole new connotation on pan handler. I also never had the need to go in search of a man who would punch his weight with my rolls of fat; in fact my abundant beauty and my intelligence and wit proved to be an intoxicating mixture and had I been of the mind, I could have had both the men and the hot dinners.

I read today about the Facebook Group set up to ridicule a family that all happen to be overweight and the youngest of whom had the misfortune to expose herself to the nation on that meritorious platform known as the X Factor. Unfortunately for her she had neither the voice or the x factor – but what she did have the plus size factor and since appearing on that programme her and her family have been subjected to horrendous cyber bullying.

Contrast this with the Facebook group in support of the children’s television presenter who was deemed by some as being unfit to present to children as she only had one arm. For me it’s a bit like the deserving and undeserving poor – in the eyes of some if you are fat you offend the sensibilities of the great British public and therefore deserve your unjust desserts.
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Tempers Frigid

March 29th 2009 21:49
Of course we forgot to put the clocks forward but it didn’t matter very much as I decided to lie in bed all morning rather than go downstairs and face the kitchen with 3 dishwasher loads distributed across its length and breadth from last night’s family dinner or the huge goggle-eyed lump sitting in front of the television watching the Australian Grand Prix. I can’t see the attraction even if Jenson is on the button.

I decided to have a long leisurely bath but given that our current bath must have been designed with pygmies in mind there was nothing long about it – not much width wise either before shedding some ballast I was almost resorting to rubbing myself down with a tub of I can’t believe it’s not butter before getting in to prevent the need for lifting gear to be brought in. When I lean forward the water rushes forward like the Severn Bore and lifting one’s arse cheek tends to require a releasing shuggle which creates a noise akin to a sink plunger. Anyway, I had a bath without interruption and himself came up and did the decent thing and washed my hair; well at least he held the shower head while I did the work


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Nostrildamus

March 25th 2009 11:22
Snoring - we all do it and it doesn't bother us because if we are snoring, we tend to be asleep at the time.

I have, of course, been known to wake myself up with the volume and ferocity of a rogue snore, the noise and the impact on the nasal passages serving to make one's cheeks wobble with the force resembling the thrust of a drag racer. Those isolated incidents aside, I have generally been on the receiving end of the snoring of others. Last night, I was in the snore zone, that is on the down wind of the sinus-charged, lip quivering, blunderbuss that is his nose in full on snore


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Honey Trap

March 24th 2009 20:11

One of the most daunting jobs of the forthcoming summer is to bring one's legs into the light. The dark months allow for a certain amount of bristle as the aforementioned legs are generally covered in winter layers. Now that the sun is starting to show its face (at least for a few split seconds) it's time to polish the pins and prepare them for all things floaty skirt and cropped trousers.

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Chunder Cats are go

March 23rd 2009 20:54
There is nothing quite like the early morning warbling of a cat or a duet de chat trying to dislodge a warm wad from its belly. This morning we had Furball XL5 and Puker Cat going at it in guttural unison over the bedroom shag pile, depositing their own pile on the shag.

With the humans enconsced in warm wonderland under the duvet, it was a case of should we leave the putrid possets until they cooled risking the forgetulness brought about by going back to sleep and the soggy footfall that could ensue? or should one of us crowbar ourselves out of bed and get the cleaning up kit? That ethical dilemma was answered when the delicate unmistakable aroma wafted under my nose and it was a case of move it or lose it (the lose it being last night's chinese takeaway


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New Tits on the Chopping Block

March 23rd 2009 20:40


Today I have been pondering about breasts, not in a salacious way or even in a mildy humourous way. Well I suppose as I find it hard to remain serious for very long (which can cause difficulties at funerals), I will of course, inject a certain amount of comedy padding into my topless review


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Bonfire of the Vanity Cases

March 23rd 2009 20:35
I am getting rid of excess baggage, luggage to be exact; just how many brief case encounters does a girl require? Holidays of a lifetime are supposed to be just that so why do I feel the need to have as many cases and assorted grips, weekenders and overnighters that nearly fill the attic bedroom and could take the Dagenham Girl Pipers on tour.

I did a quick analysis of the case in point: 2 Samsonite world travellers (so heavy to start with they are excess baggage empty) a set of 4 stacking Antler Cases and matching hand luggage (this is like one of those cheesy 70's game shows!) 3 Carlton cases on wheels - one with a broken zip, a large red samsonite case bought years ago which now stores books and CDs I can't bring myself to throw out


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Music to watch the grills go by

March 23rd 2009 20:27
A shaft of weak sunlight has split the trees and it is acompanied by the unmistakable waft of the ritual burnings otherwise known as barbeque season.

The sight, sound and smell quite unique as each little cabal of cremators struggles to outdo the next in the postage-stamp gardens that back onto chez S. Of course, this being the weekend weekend means that the cook-out cock-up knows no bounds


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