On the one hand it was difficult having a foot
in both camps so to speak. I had enough
problems in Manchester to keep me going for a lifetime without being dragged
into anything new in Liverpool. But at
times it was nice being able to let off a bit of steam with Garry; I suppose I
was using him as a sounding board now and again. He was a heavy smoker so we would stand
outside and he would smoke away to his heart’s content as I would warble on
about this, that and the other. I had to
visit Liverpool once a month to drop off the wages paperwork, this allowed me a
certain degree of flexibility so I would normally give myself an extra half an
hour and go and have a cup of tea with Tony and Jimmy and Andrew.
I don’t think Jimmy or Andrew understood what
had happened to me and although Tony was my good friend I didn’t want him to
let me down. He trod a very fine line
between being laid back and being lazy, his time keeping was abysmal, but I don’t
think he did it on purpose. He seemed to
have managed to forget how to prepare and submit his monthly accounts so I had
to do it for him. I really didn’t mind as it only took me a few minutes and I
talked him through the process every time I did it for him. It was getting more difficult to bounce from
one project to another as the more work I was given the more my timetable
suffered. Every week blocks of time
were given over to meetings or assessments, the actual time I had to meet with
the people we supported and hopefully address their problems diminished each week.
So I was really impressed when I was told that
I would have to spend two days a month at big school, big school being
Lancaster University. They had a leading
department there led by a professor who was instrumental in the implementation
of the government white paper, ‘Valuing People.’ The eighteen month long course was to dissect
and understand the full implication of the white paper and to suggest changes
or amendments. I suppose I could only
remind myself of the quote we used so often in the forces of, ‘If you can’t take
a joke you shouldn’t have joined up.’ In
preparation for the Lancaster course there were lots of little side meetings
and groups springing up which I had to attend.
The other service managers had to attend too but they only did when it
suited them.
At one of the meetings I met the head of social
services for Manchester, a Welsh fellow and his deputy. I have to admit that for social workers these
two guys were actually, ‘switched on.’ We
seemed to hit it off immediately and formed a great relationship. I was pleased to find two people who I considered
able in the world of social work, pity there wasn’t more like them, but there
was always hope. It was a bit
embarrassing that they knew so much about the problems I was dealing with at
NWCS but it was nice to see that they knew I was on top of the problems rather
than drowning. They didn’t know all of
the problems I faced and sometimes I wished I didn’t either. I wasn’t impressed with the Motability
scheme. Up until Manchester I understood
that it was a simple scheme, you basically exchanged your Motability benefits
for three years, during which time you were given a fully insured and taxed
brand new motorcar. After the three year
period you gave the car back and got another vehicle, the process started all
over again.
One of my Motability cars was due to be
exchanged and rather than a straight forward exchange and swop of keys I was told
that the old car had to undergo an inspection.
The vehicle was then returned to me and I was given a list of faults that
had to be fixed before the vehicle could be accepted. I was expected to put an insurance claim in
for little scratches and dents, perhaps a broken wing mirror as well, and have
everything fixed before they would accept the car back. This would mean that the voluntary excess insurance
for the vehicle would increase for me whereas the Motability Company were the ones
who would benefit in the long run as they got the vehicle back in showroom
condition. You have to admit that only
an idiot like me would sit down and try to set up your own scheme that would
provide a better deal than the nationwide Motability scheme.
I was
angry that once again disabled people were being ripped off, but what could you
do about it. I really did spend about two
weeks trying to set my own scheme up but couldn’t work out a better deal than Motability
were providing so I had to accept their terms.
This is where I moved over to approach number two; Motability was run by
civilians and was government sponsored, so the standard of employee should be
quite low. I was asked to report to one
of the houses I managed where they were preparing to exchange their vehicle. They had a people carrier type of van. The team leader explained to me that when
they had got the van, three years previously, no one had bothered to check the
oil or water in the engine which accordingly blew up or seized. They weren’t sure which, but in effect the
engine refused to work anymore. Rather than
worry anyone, or admit to their negligence, the then team leader changed the
engine himself and that was what was in the vehicle now. I think the van was Volkswagen and the engine
was a Ford.
Never mind the engine number and chassis number
not matching up; the fecking name on the thing didn’t really match up
either. There wasn’t much wrong with the
van, a few scratches here and there but the only thing I could do was to let it
roll down a hill into a wall and then put in an insurance claim for a new engine. As long as the accident ruined the existing
engine enough to warrant a new engine the plan might succeed and who was going
to take the blame as the original perpetrators had long gone. It was a real mess so all I could think of
doing was to take the van down to the dealer myself and hound him with bullshit. It actually worked. We had managed to select a new vehicle and
were waiting on the report on our vehicle before we could exchange vehicles. I went in to overdrive and was asking all sorts
of stupid questions, distracting the mechanics and being a right pain.
The mechanics decided their best course of
action was to get rid of me so the exchange was made and with the new paperwork
signed I was happy to drive away in our new vehicle and couldn’t have cared less
what they discovered once I had gone, they had accepted the old vehicle back
and that was a done deal in my book. So on days like this it was nice to nip away
from Manchester and visit some old friends in Liverpool. The company had kitted me out with one of
those new-fangled mobile telephones so I could contact people as I drove across
the country. I rang Tony to find out that
he was un-well, again. He was a fine
figure of a man, like myself he probably could have done with losing a pound or
two of weight, so to look at him you wouldn’t ever had thought anything was
wrong with him.
I went straight home and relaxed for a while. I called Tony’s home to be told that he had
been taken to hospital so I decided to go visit him and tell him to shake
whatever, was annoying him, off. He was always
complaining about stomach pains and most of us thought he was swinging the lead. He was in Fazakerley Hospital where I had
spent many an hour with people having ball point pens, or paint brushes,
removed from their arms and legs. On
some of the wards and department I was on nodding terms with many of the staff. I reported to the main reception desk and
gave them Tony’s name. I was a little
surprised when they told me that he was in the intensive care unit but still
thought nothing of it as I made my way up.
I remember reaching the doors to the intensive
care unit, which were locked. I was
about to press the buzzer when the door was opened by Tony’s father, a lovely
old Jamaican gentleman who was always sending fish based dishes over with Tony for
me to sample. He immediately invited me
in and brought me to a curtain surrounded area where I found Tony in a
bed. He was sitting up, wearing an
oxygen mask, and didn’t look too well, there was no sign that he recognised me
when I entered. His mother, sisters, partner
and daughter were all there. I wasn’t prepared
for this, we all knew each other and nodded our recognition. “What’s this fellow playing at?” I announced,
trying to lighten the mood and moving to the foot of his bed. “Come one Tony, I said, we’ve got work to do,
let’s get you up and out of that bed.”
There was some sort of movement in his
eye. It was like a smile, as if he had
recognised my voice, and I would like to think that he heard me and that it was
a smile, because the alarms had started going.
The nurse, I hadn’t noticed in the corner, came over and was fussing
about. I stepped back, more medics came
in and were surrounding Tony. His
relatives were holding and hugging each other, while all I could do was stand
there and wonder what on earth was going on.
It didn’t take long before the medics stepped back and announced that he
was gone. We all lined up and placed a kiss
on his forehead and wished him farewell, then left the intensive care
unit. I got in to my car and began to
drive away. My telephone was ringing and
I could see it was Manchester and for the first time ever I switched it off. Manchester and whatever problem had arisen
now was going to have to wait, I had to find somewhere quiet and get my head
around what had just happened.
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