"F*****k benefits fiddler, make 'im bend down and pick his crap up!" Can of beer in his hand, red faced, spittle on his chin and leaning unsteadily over my fence. I built that fence. Little by little, bit by bit, 12 years ago.
Bear was raking up bits of my Budlii as I shaped it. It's just under my front window, and I like to keep it trim so I can see the front gate from where I sit indoors.
I raised an eyebrow, Star Trek Spok like. Bear and I recently celebrated our 26th year together. So when I sat back on my constant companion, the folding bar stool, sighed and quickly glanced sideways at Bear, she tugged gently at my sleeve.
"Dray, Dray, leave it love?...I'll put the kettle on...." Bless. She knows better than that.
I'm an 'in yer face' confident person, but gently mind. I'm old, old, old, and though her advice was wise, it's nothing I've not seen before. Across my little front lawn, through Bears Aquilegia, I took his empty beer can from him and crushed it underfoot.
"I read the papers. I know what tw**s like you fiddle. There was some in that can!". "That's why they're trying to get rid of you". The venom in his voice was palpable. Are you ok mate I asked? "No. They've stopped my Jobseekers for nowt. Bet you have yours" Nope, never claimed it. "Bollocks, everyone has to".
I explained gently he needed to sleep. He's very tired. A long, deep sleep. A warm comfy quilt, a comfortable pillow. To stretch out and close his eyes and rest for a few hours. To imagine the safest place he'd ever been and go there. But the important thing was to rest.
"Yes?"
He frowned a moment, turned and slouched off, looking at his feet.
I'm used to people like him. I used to be shocked by it, but not any more. When you're known to have disabilities, and you're seen to do a bit of gardening, or heaven forbid, anything you enjoy, you become an easy target because you become, in the minds of some, weak. If you need help with some aspects of your care, then one must be on the fiddle - because, the 'logic' goes, if you need help, you can't do anything. Help = money, therefore if you can do some things, we shouldn't get the money.
We get targeted by the odd idiot, sensationalist and grossly inaccurate tabloids, governments, and their followers, and those who, like that chap become bitter because their own situation takes a down-turn.
Sadly it's become more common since some newspapers have picked up the governments drive to get a grossly overestimated half a million people off Disability Living Allowance "and into work".
Errmm? DLA isn't means tested. I'm allowed to work and claim. Get it right, Ian Duncan Smith. Depends on ones abilities which work you can do.
Some with disabilities are vulnerable. Because of abuse, discrimination and money worries, there's been a marked increase in mental health problems and suicides on top of any disability. Can you imagine paying for care but having the worry of a mortgage or rent and food?
I known people who have been spat on, and/or shouted at and threatened while out shopping or at a bank.
Edit F'rinstance http://politicalscrapbook.net/2012/05/owner-of-posh-nightclub-public-anti-disabled-rant-guy-pell/
I'm lucky. My disabilities are physical, not mental, and I have a number of skills at my disposal earned long and hard over more than 50 years.
I could have punched the chap in the nose. But ye small gods gave me a voice, and a good 'un, and I know how to use it :)
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Sometimes people need champions. So if you have a disability, and you find yourself needing support, leave a comment and I'll point you to a network of friends who can help. Or twitter me at @wheelieslug.
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