Friday 27 April 2012
If you are expecting Orwell from me, you can forget it. I’ve been to Wigan, and on one un-momentous evening, to Wigan pier. Actually I have to confess to having been to Wigan a lot, though I can’t for the life of me remember if George actually went there or just liked the the word wigan.
I admit to liking the title though. I am pretty sure I liked the book, but not sure I could read it now.
It’s that ole love of my life crippledom and foggy finking that stops me devouring anything more complex than a blog, which is why I am pretty ecstatic that Benefit Scrounging Scum has been shortlisted for the Orwell blogging prize.
At this point I will declare an interest - BendyGirl is my phone mate. A little tiny bit like a soul mate or a best mate, but it’s a relationship where we cannot see each other’s expressions - a fact that I think we are both quite chuffed about. Also there is a real chance that the physical meeting may cause distortions in the time-space-disability continuum.
It’s not a healthy relationship for any given definition of healthy (we are not) or relationship (yeah, right). Examples being BendyGirl frightening me witless by dropping off the phone when her larynx collapsed, and me having an instantaneous and drastic asthma attack by slurping what I thought was water and turned out to be soluble aspirin. However these types of incidents are rare, no more than once a week anyway. The more common “talking on the phone” injury is dislocated ribs.
I’ll be honest here, our lives are crap. Other disabled people’s lives are crappier. And trying to save the Welfare system from your bed/chair/floor is about as much fun as trying to retrieve Grandma’s antique wedding ring from a blocked toilet using only your teeth, whilst simultaneously being rogered up the arse by an angry elephant with herpes.
But oddly, as depressing and exhausting life may seem BendyGirl is my laughter, my moral guidance and my sanity. And for those who know her well, you now have a pretty good idea how baseless, coarse and mental I am. If BendyGirl is the datum point, you have to work backwards from there quite a long way. And that is where you will find me, grinning and gurning like an evil toad on acid.
I am deeply suspicious of everything, and everyone. As luck has it, this is exactly what you need when debating disability related politics. BendyGirl can sniff out the morally inept, the cruel and the legally dubious - I am usually busy sniffing out the money behind it, or rather who’s up who and who aint payin’. But BendyGirl is a moral compass, a natural wit and a superb debater who is dedicated enough to write a regular and entertaining blog about life in a broken and borked body.
So if you are thinking when you read that a disabled writer has been short-listed for the prestigious Orwell Prize for blogging something along the lines of Variety Club Sunshine coach, please readjust your thinking.
Its far more akin to St. Trinians meets Private Eye, and please don’t ever say I didn’t warn you.
Read it here; http://benefitscroungingscum.blogspot.co.uk/