As part of my job I wash arses. If that throws you then perhaps you know no-one who is disabled. I meet the disabled everyday. I literally clean up shit and carry the weight of those who are paid to care but pretend they can’t smell shit and, thus, have a ready excuse for “Oh dear, sorry.... I missed it.”
They masquerade as ‘care workers’.
Family members, neighbours and friends I can accept with their disabilities - recognised or not, but I loath those who are paid to care and still choose to not meet minimum standards let alone raise a standard.
If you came here looking for nicey nicey stories - wrong time and place.
As the world plunges into debt despair so those whose motivation is base self interest are evermore revealed. I’ll have to get over this anger and reclaim my equilibrium.
Ultimately, we stand or fall by our actions or lack of them and words are just an explanation.
Playing at the restaurant was a success. It’s a strange position - being essentially the background ambiance while people eat. I can’t - as yet - just play guitar. Songs are all I’ve got so that’s what I did and, apart from operating in a spot barely bigger than me and a chair, needed to be aware of what was really going on with forty or so people gathered together for a feed and some speeches.
It went better than I thought and catapulted me out of ‘looking for bindii’s within the garden' to ‘how the hell did I strum ‘Whose say so.’
I’ve got five days off after a concentrated ten days and ...... that’s life isn’t it?
Still finding bindii’s in the garden but now I get a small hand-full at a time rather than a bucket.......it’s also great for stretching the body AND I get to see ladybirds close up.
It’s late and I believe I could use a drink.