Christmas cheer for me, not thee.
It’s that time of year again. For many, it’ll be full of fun and frolics with friends and loved ones. For others it’ll be their annual reminder of how very little they have, with no hope of that changing anytime soon.
I went out earlier to do some grocery shopping and, at the entrance to the supermarket, sat a female asking passers by if they would buy her a sandwich as she hadn’t eaten all day. Most just walked past her. An older gent ahead of me told her he would see how much he had left once he had done his weekly shop, and would try and get her something.
The female in question appeared to be largely invisible to people who passed her, but she does exist. Her name is Paula. Her fragile state was certainly not invisible. Her hunger could only be articulated to anyone who cared to listen, but her desperation was clearly visible to anyone willing to give her a momentary glance.
Paula is in her mid fifties, and is holed up in a disused garage nearby. She’s from up north, and lived with her grandad in his council house. Her grandad was a coal miner, and her grandma was a seamstress. Both are no longer alive. Paula’s parents died young and her grandparents brought her up. She was an only child and now finds herself entirely alone in the world.
When Paula was in her thirties, she decided to come to London with a month’s worth of money from her grandad, as she had no work and wanted a chance to earn some decent money for herself. She had sorted out a room in a house share for a month, which then became permanent when she landed a job in a cafe. She did this for over ten years, and the cafe then closed down.
For the first time in her life, Paula made a claim for benefits. She got some help, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough. Having gradually eaten away at the money that she had carefully saved up, she couldn’t make ends meet and her landlord kicked her out. No court case, no legal action. He just kicked her out.
When Paula went to the council’s offices, she was told that they couldn’t house her. She had no medical issues, and no other vulnerabilities that would make her a priority. They didn’t even offer her a room in a hostel.
I didn’t get into the subsequent details of her life but, fast forward a few years, we have a lady in her fifties sleeping in a disused garage. She goes to the woods nearby to collect enough material to burn in a fire pit in the corner to keep the place warm during the night. She usually finds someone to buy her food most days, but it gets harder at this time of year. The most I could do was to buy her two meal deals and a coffee from the Costa machine. And then what does she do?
We live in a country where politicians can give lucrative contracts to their mates, and millionaire donors give huge sums to them every year. We have insane amounts of money available for subsidies for a range of industries that are already super wealthy. Yet, with all the taxes we’re squeezed for, there isn’t enough money to house our own citizens who live on the streets or, as in Paula’s case, in disused garages.
Paula has given me a good idea of where she stays, so I’ll be able to take round some hot food on Christmas Day. But I have to be honest, I’ll soon forget her. And not just because life is busy, and we’ve all got our own stuff going on, but because I’m a coward. I can’t deal with seeing that level of hardship, so I’ll post this and then think about Paula for a few days. And then, when I’ve assured myself that I’ve done my bit, I’ll try and blank her out so that I can carry on living my life as happily as I can.
We’re such a broken society. We have money to throw at people when we want to, but if you’re the wrong kind of person then society won’t spit on you even if you were on fire.
There’ll be Christmas cheer for me this year, of that I’m very sure. For many others there’ll be cold, hard misery, with no hope of anything more. What a sad state our country is in.
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