There is no alternative.... and the mysterious Plan B

When I was young, I can remember arguing with my father quite a lot.  He wasn't normally a very patient man but when it came to talking about life he seemed to have endless patience during my teenage years.  His questions were often simple, but the lessons they provided were profound and I shall always be grateful to him for that.

Story Number 1
So when I was complaining about something more than usual one day, he simply asked 'Why don't you change it then?'
'I can't.'
'Why not?'
'Because I don't have any alternatives....'
Slowly, patiently, my father explained that there are always alternatives.  I may not know what they are, I may not like them, some may not work (but some certainly will).   'There is always a different way of doing things, there is always a better way and it's your job to find out what that is.'

Story Number 2
Another day, I was complaining that my life lacked any direction.  I didn't know what I wanted to be, I didn't know what I was capable of becoming (the jury's still out on that one by the way) and I lacked any sort of plan.  The plan I had carefully nurtured through High School wasn't working out.  And there was nothing I could do about it.  Or so I thought.
'Go to Plan B,' said my father.
'I don't have a Plan B,' I wept.
'Ah.  But you should always have a Plan B for times like this,' he explained.
'I didn't think I would need it,' I sobbed.
He smiled, shook his head.  'I know.  But none of us knows what the future holds, you can't have just a single plan and stick to it.  You must always have a couple of extras, just in case.'

My father knew what he was talking about here.  Although he worked all his life, fate had thrown him a couple of horrible blows, and if anyone knew about alternatives, and Plans B through to Z it was him.  So I listened.  And it helped me to grow up.

Fast forward to the present day, where apparently well educated politicians have the gall to stand up and claim 'There are no alternatives' 'There is no Plan B' and I realise what a bunch of childish buffoons they are.  Incapable of listening, they may have been expensively educated but have come out the other side knowing nothing of those they want to rule.  They simply aren't interested.  Ruling is an end in itself, they can't - won't - see beyond that.  They certainly don't think that history has anything to teach them on the subject.  But it does....

At the beginning of the twentieth century there was a powerful ruler of many people, called Nicholas.  He ruled over millions whom he never understood.  He thought he was invincible.  He certainly never thought he needed alternatives or a Plan B.

And look what happened to him. 

Fighting back

The title sounds fierce - the reality is a little more pathetic.  However, it's better than nothing.  Years ago, when I was young, I would consider that 'fighting back' would at least require me to man the barricades or something.  Nowadays fighting back means getting up, getting dressed and putting my bra on.  I know which is more difficult for me.

And yet, in the midst of all of it, I force myself to look for the beauty in life.  The sound of the birds.  The sparkle of a raindrop on a dead plant on a windowsill.  My husband telling me he still loves me after all these years.  I was bright and lively when we met, full of strength.  He used to tell me that I was the strong one of our partnership... but now I weep when I have to be helped to do simple things I once took for granted.

So today I am going to fight back.  I am properly (if painfully) dressed.  I have brushed my hair.  I have put on some make up.  I look considerably better than I feel.

And that's a start. 

Now, lead me to the barricades!

An update of sorts

I haven't blogged here in a while.  Partly because so much else has been going on.  Partly because I am feeling too rotten and just turning over in bed is all I can cope with.  But my brain is still active, rest assured of that. 

Anyway... to update on the shower.  They win.  I cannot keep it up any longer.  At one point I thought I had won, only to encounter workmen who believed I had concrete floors upstairs (any fool can see they're made of wood) and that it would be okay to saw through a few joists.  It won't .  Trust me.  I don't want to find one side of the house down in the garden.  

But I did have a win of sorts, with the DWP.  I finally won an  appeal for DLA that has been rumbling on for YEARS.  After several tribunals, I finally got what I wanted, which is great.  I wish I could say that I've been celebrating, but I haven't.  Because although I've 'won' in some respects, it isn't over....

Let me explain.  Firstly, the DWP now appear to have lost the entire appeal.  They have no record of my first claim, nor the appeals that followed,and they certainly have no record whatsoever of me winning anything.  So actually getting some back-pay is a long way off.

Also, I now have to tackle HMRC to get my tax credits amended for the appropriate period.  After all, if I was entitled to DLA for that period, I was also entitled to slightly higher tax credits.  But no.  The leviathon that is HMRC says it is only obliged to refund back to the start of the present financial year.  And my claim - thanks to inept tribunals and the idiots at the DWP rumbled on for years in spite of all the evidence. 

'Well,' I said, trying to sound reasonable, although in truth I was tearing my hair out, 'Surely there's something I can do?  I must be able to appeal?'
'Oh yes,' they said, 'but.... you might have to attend a tribunal.'
I took a deep breath and counted to ten.  'Fine,' I said.  'I'm used to those.  Put me down for a tribunal then.'