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A Fire We Were Warned About.
Within hours of publishing an update on Southall’s Toxic Town scandal, the recycling site behind our home burned - an event long predicted by residents and enabled by years of regulatory inaction.
Some amazing photos of last night’s fire. It’s literally around the corner from us, but all we knew about it was the sound of the sirens.
Chilli On The Rocks
Made my usual chilli on Thursday. I must have been a bit distracted because I heated the pan up on a medium-high heat rather that the usual medium, making it too hot for the olive oil. Then I literally dropped the garlic powder jar into the pan (don’t tell the wife!). I got the jar out and thought, wow, that’s a LOT of garlic powder! I did think about scooping it out, but it was already burning and I needed to get the onions and cumin in the pan. I should have started over, but didn’t have enough oil left. Going against all LESS IS MORE principles I figured I could correct for the burnt garlic overdose by simply ADDING MORE STUFF. So I added more cumin, more turmeric, more sweet smoked paprika, more oregano, more jalapeños. It smelled and tasted pretty bad. I added vinegar and Kefir yoghurt, which made it look and taste more like a curry. There was tons of it.
The wife came home and had some for her dinner. She asked what it was (never a good sign). I explained that I added yoghurt to calm it down a bit. She ate it and said it was much better than my usual chilli.
I had some yesterday, and while it was edible, it was obviously (to me) totally overpowered by garlic. I don’t fancy any more of it if I’m honest.
Big Kid and the Umbrella
Big kid had lots of big ideas.
He wanted a big house so all his friends and family could stay and play together.
He wanted a big school so everyone could learn everything they needed to know.
He wanted a big hospital so that everyone could get the help they needed when they needed it.
But most of all, he wanted a big umbrella. In particular, he wanted his granny’s umbrella that she was going to throw away. The umbrella was very old, like an antique. In fact, it was Grandad’s old umbrella. Grandad had sadly died when big kid was a baby. He had cancer. Even though it was very old, and very dusty, big kid really wanted this umbrella. It was a shame to throw it away. And at school they had learned all about reusing old things and not sending them to landfill sites that poison the earth. And it was part of his family’s heritage. And, oh my god, it was BIG! It was a golf umbrella. Not that Grandad played any golf. But he did go on lots of walks in the rain to fetch things for Granny and get him out from under her feet. And now big kid could walk to school and back in the rain without needing to wear a big bulky coat that he would have to carry around with him all day. It would be perfect!
Big kid pleaded with Granny and his mum and dad, and eventually got his way (mum didn’t want “more junk in the house”, so the umbrella lives outside in the communal stairway). Granny is very pleased, and dad gets to use the umbrella, too, sometimes, when he collects little kid in the rain. It’s much better than those silly little umbrellas that snap and collapse in the wind and barely keep your shoulders dry.
Big kid is now very popular at school when it rains at home time. He’s always late home as he provides a sheltered taxi service home to all his friends. They all huddle together under his big umbrella and they walk each other home until he’s the last one and he walks home with his big umbrella all to himself.
Here’s where the story ends.
But in a parallel universe, big kid’s big umbrella becomes a source of envy. Bigger kids want it, and one big kid in particular has no problem taking it. He moves in, full of superficial charm, “Hey kid, nice umbrella! Wow, that’s such a big umbrella, kid. It would be perfect to keep me and my friends dry when it rains. Here, have some Haribos. They’re Tangtastic, your favourites. Let’s walk home together with my friends.”
Bigger kid has lots of stories to tell about how much better he is than everyone else, and, in particular, how much worse everyone else is, and why. “But me and you, we’re the same. We have my Haribos and my big umbrella. We’re a team!”
Big kid doesn’t really know what’s happening but he goes along with it because he doesn’t really have any choice. Bigger kid could just take his umbrella and leave him in the rain to get wet. Bigger kid could take away his Haribos. Big kid’s friends no longer talk to him, but that’s ok because they all soaking wet anyway, and bigger kid’s friends are all kind of bigger and drier. Although they do eat all of big kid’s Haribos. And big kid is no longer big kid. He’s little kid.
Soon, little kid’s big umbrella gets damaged and there’s a hole in it. The bigger kids were messing around with it pretending it was a sword. They stabbed a tree with it. Now not everyone is keeping dry in the rain and some people are getting very wet. Arguments start. Little kid’s umbrella is no longer a source of unity and pride among friends. It’s become a source of conflict and suspicion.
“Some kids are making us wet and need to be kicked out!” they shouted.
“That little kid is making us wet!” said bigger kid. “Kick him out!”
Now little kid has stopped having ideas. They’re dangerous. Bad. Crazy. Like him.
Things could have got better. Or worse.
Little kid’s dad noticed he wasn’t himself and he told his dad everything that happened. Dad spoke to the teachers at school. The grown-ups had some meetings.
Bigger kid told a pack of lies. He said little kid gave him the umbrella. He said little kid stole it from him. He said little kid broke it to stop bigger kid using it. Bigger kid said little kid was stealing his Haribos and selling them to bigger kid’s friends. Bigger kid took the umbrella back to protect it from little kid so that everyone could use it.
Bigger kid’s dad brought bigger kid round and made him say sorry.
Next time bigger kid saw little kid he punched him in the face.
The framing of this “story” is very interesting, to say the least, for all sorts of reasons.
New archbishop urged to scrap £100m slavery reparations: bbc.com
Our friendly local neighbourhood Evri delivery driver, who always delivered to our door, has been replaced by a new driver who throws my wife’s new shoes into a nearby hedge.
'Throw the parcel at the back door' - Evri couriers tell of pressure to earn a decent wage: bbc.com
Unsafe discharge and death by licorice
Mum moved downstairs two months ago. It hasn’t been easy. The previous occupiers, our neighbours, left the house a filthy mess. Me and my brother got the kitchen and bathroom cleaned on moving in day, but it was far from ideal. Another neighbour who I know from work/church repainted her walls and ceilings. A neighbour my wife knows weeded the garden and did some cleaning and washing. Little kid posts the dog jumpers and cat tea cosies she knits to keep her eBay customers happy. Big kid sweeps and mops the floor for manga money. Sainsbury’s deliver a crateful of cat food, fizzy drinks, snacks, and black licorice. The licorice keeps her “moving”. I make her a cooked meal every evening, empty the bins, and keep moving furniture around as and when requested. “When I get the place sorted I’ll be fine” is my mum’s mantra. Mine is more “you need to get your health sorted” and “tell your doctor”.
Mum looks set to move at the very start of next month. Moving house is the most stressful life event, and doing so when you’re 80, unwell, and from the home you bought expecting it to be your final home in the town where you went to school is harder. She’s handled it pretty well, to be fair, although the anxiety has kicked in the closer we got to the desired completion date. It’s not been easy for me, either, as there’s a limit to what I can do from a distance. It’s mostly “ask your solicitor” or “tell your solicitor” and trying to reassure her that everything will be all right in the end.
The first week she moved in, she banged her leg during the night causing a pretty horrible haematoma, which required a couple of trips to the hospital, the GP surgery and ongoing home visits from the district nurse. Yesterday morning I was on my third spoon of cornflakes before the school run when I received a text from mum saying she’d had a fall and was on the floor. Her other leg (not the one she banged before) gave way as she got out of bed and she toppled over on to her side. Remarkably, she didn’t break anything and had got herself sitting upright again, but obviously couldn’t get herself up. I couldn’t get her up either, which is probably just as well, as the medical advice is not to move them. My wife stayed with her while I took little kid to school. Paramedics duly arrived and very carefully assessed and treated her and recommended a trip to Accident and Emergency (A&E) due to her elevated heart rate and medical history. She did not want to go, but the alternative was to wait for a home visit from the GP in the afternoon and s/he would certainly call an ambulance.
After a day in A&E, and after I left her to pick up little kid, she was told she would be discharged that evening. They’d booked hospital transport to take her home, but I drove to collect her as it might have been a long wait. When I got there, she couldn’t get out of her chair into her wheelchair without the assistance of two carers. I wondered if she’d be able to get into and out of my car. And into and out of her bed. Without falling down again. There was general agreement that it was certainly a suboptimal arrangement. My wife, who is a social worker and deals with similar scenarios in her work, advised me that what the hospital was proposing is known as an unsafe discharge.
As soon as I uttered this magic phrase, mum was readmitted to A&E so that she could be discharged safely. She was not happy about that or with me, I have to say. And I can quite understand. Everyone just wants to go home and sleep peacefully, comfortably and privately in their own bed. Today she’s been reassessed. She now has a six-week care package in place for when she goes home so that she can regain her independence without putting herself at risk of another fall. They’ve done more scans and found new problems.
And, seriously, it now turns out that her long-standing licorice habit might be the single cause of some of her most debilitating problems.
There was a huge warehouse fire in Southall yesterday. Fortunately no one was hurt. Three schools sent their kids home early. Little kid’s school was directly downwind, so they kept the children indoors all day. When I picked him up, my little lad wanted to know if his home was safe. On the way home, he broke down, sobbing primal tears. He said he’d been worried about me all day. He thought we might all be dead and had been holding on to that fear all day long.