Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got, 'til it's gone

Joni Mitchell sang wise words about that Big Yellow Taxi, paving paradise and putting up parking lots. A hit 40 odd years ago, the words of that song are timeless and as relevant today as they were back then. On a day when hundreds of thousands of ordinary people including the wonderful Aiden and the Jafro Boy, also known as plebs, are marching in London to protest against austerity and just what the realities are of being a pleb and being in it together far more that any tory boy minister will ever be, it is apt that I write about how precious are the free things in life. Except that they're not really free. There is always a cost and when that cost is not met, there is a heavy price to pay.

People who live in Walsall are incredibly lucky. Yes you read that right! We have a jewel, a precious jewel. That jewel is called Walsall Countryside Services. There must be some very committed and hard working people who work there because the miracles that performed within this urban borough are a credit to them, a credit to the people of the borough and a credit to Walsall Council. They do an awful lot with not a lot of money and we all benefit from it. Think of the wonderful and beautiful green spaces, nature reserves and parks that we have in Walsall and you start to understand what miracles are performed.

The photographs here are of Park Lime Pits which is a beautiful place just 2 miles from the centre of Walsall. I take visitors from all around the UK there and always they are incredulous that such a place exists in Walsall. Other places that I enjoy on a regular basis are The Dingle, Cuckoo's Nook, Barr Beacon, Merrions Wood, The Arboretum; all of these and the many others in Walsall such as Shire Oak, Moorcroft, Rough Wood and Fibbersley Nature Reserves, the Commons of Brownhills, Clayhanger and Pelsall, Goscote Valley and Stubbers Green are cared for, nourished, improved, conserved and maintained by a group of staff from Walsall Countryside Services.

I'm lucky enough to know one or two of those committed and hard working souls through various means but the person I have most contact  with is Morgan Bowers. This is because I'm involved with Friends of Park Lime Pits and the Pits and Lime Pits Farm are part of Morgan's portfolio of work. I'm told that the other staff at Walsall Countryside Services are every bit as friendly, driven, conscientious and enthusiastic as Morgan. There's a lot goes on outside normal working hours such as the Meteor Watch at Barr Beacon tonight, courses on basket weaving, Peregrine Watch, all designed to bring what Walsall has to offer closer to the local people.

We all need a little time out to enjoy an oasis of calm and green and Countryside Services make sure that those spaces are maintained and kept well for us to be able to do that. Alas my concern is the financial juggling that the Council are about to embark upon in preparation for setting the budget for the 2013 financial year and the effect that loosely juggled balls will have upon this precious service. I am not aware of what cuts may be made and what that could mean in a practical sense to the service and for those that work for it but what I do know is presently they do a brilliant job, which the council is quick to milk for publicity purposes (because let's face it some other services at the council seem only to be able to garner bad publicity in recent times) and that it would be a great pity if those committed staff were to suddenly find their hands tied when it comes to providing a first class service or worse still, they find themselves making fortnightly visits to sign on.

We perhaps take this jewel a little for granted. If we do then we really will not know what we have enjoyed until it is gone. Personally I don't want to take any risks and will be emailing my local councillors to let them know that I do not want to see this service cut to the bone and decimated and for the jewel to be allowed to tarnish. I urge everyone to do the same.

We Are Walsall

It has been a number of years since I've attended a demonstration, static or otherwise. One of the reasons for this was the political fire in my belly had virtually burnt out through disillusionment, betrayal and being kept busy in other ways. Recently though events have transpired to re-kindle and the political flame has been re-lit alongside the flames on the fire licking away at injustice and inequality. I blame the government!

Today the thoroughly nauseating and vile EDL held a static demonstration in Walsall. I'm not quite sure why they chose Walsall. Walsall may be a lot of things but it's never had a problem in welcoming people from all over the world to live and work in the borough. It has, by and large existed as a peaceful multi-racial, multi-ethnic, multi-cultural town since I was a small child holding my Mother's hand as I walked around town, mesmerised by the exotic looking ladies in their sari's back in the 60s. There have been no race riots here, no big news stories that may have divided a community. Perhaps that's why the bigots chose Walsall; because as a community it tends to get on.

The EDL were confined to Leicester Street. We headed up to Gallery Square where the counter demonstration was being held. The first thing that struck me as we walked into town from Lower Rushall Street was how quiet it was. One didn't need to dodge cars ignoring red lights at pedestrian crossings and there was only one market stall set up. My heart went out to the market traders who through no fault of their own, were losing a days takings because the racist EDL had come to town for the day. There were a large number of police officers around the town. I silently wished them a non-eventful shift. We passed the end of Leicester Street. There appeared to be about 20 EDL supporters there at that time. Up in Gallery Square there were far larger numbers that increased as the day went on.

I had forgotten just how many leaflets you can accumulate on demonstrations and also how many people will approach you about attending other demonstrations. My bag is stuffed with every kind of leaflet.  The live music was good and we chatted with various folks and enjoyed the friendly ambiance, speakers and coffee from Costa Ratheralota. A group of about 50 young people marched into the square and for a little while the atmosphere was a little less relaxed but a couple of speakers spoke of peace and non-violent protest and of removing scarves from faces. That did the trick and normal service was resumed. The police were noticeable by their sheer numbers however everyone seemed to be on good terms and even the guys with EGT (evidence gathering team...apparently) emblazoned on their backs were up for a chat.

By 1.30pm we were cold and needed to run a few errands and so began a long trek around Crown Wharf, the Fire Station, Stafford Street in order to get back towards Lower Rushall Street. Many roads by that time had been closed, as was the bus station. The Police were incredibly apologetic and helpful. We passed by the end of Leicester Street again. By now their numbers had swollen to about 200 but it was a nasty atmosphere. Lots of football type chanting and as we walked away they had turned around to chant in the faces of the police officers. Reaching half way up Bridge Street we heard a loud firework type bang, the chanting and shouting became frenzied and before your could say SPG, the riot helmets were on and a rather loud police officer was telling us and others to go away. Any questions directed towards him resulted in the same message being relayed in ever increasing decibels.

We left Walsall but not before being held up at the Arboretum whilst the police escorted in three coaches which we later discovered were for the EDL to get them out of town. Pity they came in the first place. They didn't achieve anything, just massive inconvenience for the people and traders of Walsall, an awful lot of costs for the policing of the day oh and one massive positive; the people of Walsall of all races, creeds and colour coming together peacefully to say EDL, you're not welcome in Walsall. We are Walsall.

For Claire

I've known Claire since she started primary school with my sister many years ago! She will not mind me saying that the last few years have been traumatic for her and not least because she has suffered from breast cancer. Claire is back running now and this weekend will be participating in The Great North Run, attempting a half marathon.

She is raising money for Breast Cancer Care. You can read Claire's story here and also make a donation. I urge to spare a little cash on behalf of Claire for this charity that helped her through some pretty dark days. She's an Aldridge girl through and through and an inspiration to all that know her.

Lessons, learning and sunshine

Despite the fact that Aiden had been ill enough to be admitted to hospital in late January, February was in my memory a sunny month. In terms of weather it didn’t actually get sunny until towards the end of the month but in my minds eye, the sun shone and hope was eternal. Aiden bought his new crossbow and returned from two competitions smiling and pain free. Most of you will remember March as incredibly sunny month and weatherwise it was but apart from the 1st day of that month, when I went out for a ride and began to realise how the potential of cycling in warm weather would be a wonder to experience, March was an an incredibly dark month because just before 6pm that day, Aiden encountered the nemesis that was his accident.

It wasn’t just his injuries and the pain he endured that made March and April so dark, it was the fact that WM Police didn’t attend the accident, didn’t listen to me when I tried to explain the extent of his injuries and didn’t understand that the justice we sought was about acknowledging how wrong they were in not attending, admitting they were wrong and was nothing whatsoever about prosecution or an insurance claim.

We were both grateful that so many wonderful people rallied to Aiden’s cause. It’s worth mentioning once again that people such as Brownhills Bob and The Plastic Hippo penned powerful and far reaching blogs, various cycling forums, magazines, writers became interested in what had happened and BBC Radio WM in the form of Adrian Goldberg’s programme got interested and stayed interested enough to follow Aiden’s story plus there was Councillor Imran Azam and so many other individuals that I’m not sure would want the publicity!

All the help and support was a wonderful thing to behold and it helped us so very much but I cannot pretend that the period was anything but awful and the strain of constantly having to chase up the Police and then when a final result to the lacklustre investigation was imparted to feel so sickened and let down and wondering if justice was unobtainable, did take it’s toll. I’m sure that had everything been handled correctly from the word go, Aiden’s mental recovery would have kicked in a lot earlier than it did.

I think it’s fair to say that I’ve worried and maybe even intimidated a few coppers along this journey. I’m not sorry for that because the uppermost thought in my mind was justice for Aiden.

Once the complaint, made in two forms; firstly on the policy of attendance at RTCs and secondly regarding the incompetence we had encountered from moment the 999 call was made, had been submitted to the Chief Constable we were fortunate that Inspector Paul Dutton, took ownership of events and ensured that justice did indeed finally prevail. It’s been quite humbling to be in his company and to witness his energy, enthusiasm, dedication and sheer love of his job. He investigated what had happened from start to finish (including his own less than helpful role two days after the accident) and made strenuous efforts to research the policy that WM Police work under and to understand that it was not fit for purpose and to contact other officers that could possibly influence a change and he visited Aiden and me in our home a couple of times, arranged for us to visit the Operations Room where the call concerning Aiden was routed, explained the set up, the roles and allowed us to observe a complex and incredibly stressful environment and then led a session on a training day for his team about the lessons that could be learned from our experiences and invited us to attend so that we could observe and witness just how seriously we had been taken.

The whole experience with WM Police was a little like going from the ridiculous to the sublime. True, if events had been dealt with properly from the start then there would have been no need for a complaint and for all the angst that went with it but I have to applaud them for recognising their shortcomings both in terms of policy and service and having the guts to hold their hands up and admit they were wrong, apologise and to then take affirmative action not to put things right because it was far too late for that but to attempt to ensure that this sort of incident doesn’t happen again and to take a serious look at the policy in question.

When we attended the training session at Aston the contrasts of police work were brought home to me. We sat and watched and listened (unidentified until quite late on in the session) to a group of officers discuss what had gone wrong with Aiden’s case (plus one other case) and we saw their facial expressions and heard the gasps when they saw a photograph of his injuries. Their reactions were genuine and it was clear that there was regret that a member of the public had suffered such bad service on their watch. I realised that I was in the company of a group of people who did take pride in their job and did want to provide a good service to ordinary people like me and Aiden. At the same time I was very aware that right next door to us was the practice theatre for firearms and in front of us on the floor were piles of protective clothing. What came to me was that sometimes these officers I was sitting amongst, put their lives on the line for the safety and protection of everyone. Another humbling moment.

I am not so naive as to believe that every cop is a good cop and that the Police will not continue to make mistakes however, if lessons are learned and they are willing to learn from those mistakes as was our experience, then my faith that the vast majority of coppers are hard working decent men and women who enjoy their job, want to serve well and do their personal best, is restored.

We are led to understand that the policy regarding attendance at RTCs involving cyclists and pedestrians is to change for the better although we have no final word on that at present but at least the wheels are grinding away in the background and our experience will have had a very positive outcome.

Aiden returned to work last week. It's been a long road to a recovery that will never be a full one in terms of having full use of his arm and rather amazingly the sun came out to play again once he returned! There's a message there somewhere....

Here's to a Gold, Silver, Bronze, London Summer Sponsor Bonus

I remember exactly where I was when it was announced that London had won the right to stage the 2012 Olympic Games; in my living room in Aldridge, watching BBC News24. We had been in Paris earlier that year and had seen their advertising and I could not believe that London stood a chance and so when I heard the word ‘London’ I whooped and hollered and was so very happy.

I love London and don’t mind admitting it. I lived there for a very long time and my son and daughter were both born there. It’s a fine city and like Dr Johnson I could never be bored whilst living there. Sure it is crowded, dirty, sometimes violent, a heaving mass of people but it is also beautiful, vibrant and relatively peaceful considering the diversity and sheer numbers of its make up. I never wanted to leave but circumstances dictated it must be so. I had only been back in Aldridge for four years when London won the Games and still felt that London was my home.

I love sport too. Always have. My first live football match was at Fellows Park to see Walsall play host to Fulham. I can’t remember exactly how old I was when Dad had finally got over the fact that I wasn’t a boy and decided that a girlie could attend a match but I suspect I was only about four. There was no stopping me after that. For many years I was one of a very small crowd week in, week out at Darlaston Town Football Club although by my teenage years there was the added attraction of watching fit young men as well as the football. Not that there were many fit young men because Darlaston seemed to mainly have old has beens in the team such as former Wolves player Terry Wharton and even the young players seemed more gifted at blowing smoke rings and drinking Banks Mild than at playing football but it was my love of sport that kept me watching.

Much to my parents and grandparents delight I became Birchfield Harrier at age 10 and my participation in athletics continued well into my twenties, as did playing league Netball. Athletics, track and field to be more specific, has been my number one love in sport terms since I can remember and it was a love I shared with my Mom. I can still remember watching David Emery winning gold in Mexico City and the joy we shared even though I really was far too young to understand the significance of his win and the world record attached to that run. We attended the Alexander Stadium and the NIA for various meetings until she became too ill to enjoy sitting for long periods of time in confined spaces. When not watching it live we would share a sofa and shout our encouragement at the TV and Dad would always say the same thing, ‘they cor ere ya, yow know’.

Back in 2005 and that announcement, first thing I did was call Mom and we talked excitedly about how we would be able to attend and watch our dream; the Olympics in Britain. Mom was ill by then but not so debilitated that we couldn’t imagine not attending. We were both looking forward to London 2012 so much and I was also excited by the fact that I could witness with my children a truly historic event that they would remember for the rest of their lives.

The next thing I did was register to volunteer for the games. For years I enjoyed the volunteering emails sent every month, kept up to date with what was going on in London and having chatted with my son got him to sign up for volunteering too. What better way to spend a summer when 18; a worldwide event in the city of his birth, enjoying the vibrancy and specialness of the event. Alas this interest proved to be the first personal disappointment of London 2012. When the time came to complete the application process I was accepted as a volunteer but my son wasn’t. No reason was ever given. On being accepted I then read through the masses of gumf and realised that although a meal would be provided when on duty (presumably of the fast food variety by one of the sponsor partners) plus travelling expenses within London itself, no allowance would be made for travelling to London or for any accommodation costs. I was on my own at the time of this discovery and really could not afford to be a volunteer.

Never mind thought I, at least I could go and watch something but the whole ticketing fiasco put paid to that consolation. I did try again after the initial ballots but the only tickets that were available were way out of my price range. Aiden and I even tried for tickets at various practice events to no avail.

I still wanted to be involved in some way though and thought that perhaps it would be a truly wonderful thing if my son could carry the torch at some point through his adopted home town of Walsall the day after his 18th birthday. He’s battled through so much during his life and I thought that maybe that could be recognised. I called up the online forms to nominate him but after some deep reflection decided that he didn’t stand a chance and knowing how he’s not good at dealing with rejection, the form was never sent. I was pretty upset therefore when looking at the profiles of those chosen to carry the torch through Walsall, how few of the chosen actually came from the Borough, how many were chosen by those ‘partners’ and that my son was just as deserving of such an honour. So I didn’t stand by the roadside and cheer them on because it all felt so very false.

That sense of falseness continues with the sponsors,sorry read partners tax dodge and the sponsor control over everything to do with what should be our Games. They are not. Yesterday I read that brand police will despatched all around the country to ensure the sponsors exclusive rights over words such as ‘summer’, ‘gold’, ‘silver’, ‘bronze’ and even ‘London’. Then there’s the beer (never mind the chips that’s been done to death!) where Heineken are the supplier of Olympic ‘beer’. They will be serving up John Smiths as British Bitter and Strongbow cider, well that will be just ‘cider’. Lord knows what the world will think about our beer and cider if this is all they can get at Olympic venues.

When you think about it, it doesn’t really matter what city in what country hosts the Games. They can be held anywhere and the same crap in terms of food and beverages would be served up by the partners. A wonderful opportunity for any city and country to market all that is great, good and wonderful about them is no more for it is only the sponsoring partners that are allowed to do that. I have no desire to see cities and countries bankrupt themselves in the name of hosting the Olympics but the commercialism now involved means they don’t have to because they’re hosting an event without spirit, that has forgotten what it supposed to be about. The Olympics is just one big marketing opportunity...but not for the host city.

I will be watching the Games on TV and I am hoping fervently that athletes such as Mark Cavendish, Sir Chris Hoy, Jessica Ennis, Mo Farrah and even our own Ellie Simmonds in the Paralympics, give me genuine goosebump moments that have me jumping up and down in the living room and making the TV wobble and where I’ll hear my Dad from half a mile down the road shouting ‘they con ere yow in Lundun’. I’ll be celebrating their individual achievements as true athletes that I admire enormously participating in something that I have loved all my life, that happens to be taking place in a city I adore but those partners? I’m not buying their hype.

Many happy returns

My son celebrates his 18th birthday this week. I’ve done the sentimental, gushing, love you blog before as you would expect from this over emotional baggage, so now it’s time for celebration by way of day to day ordinariness or how life really is with a tall, skinny, handsome and he knows it, intelligent and he knows it,  annoying, slightly lazy, pedantic, crazy…you get the drift, a fairly normal teenager.

Except of course he isn’t fairly normal. He is very Asperger’s and this brings with it blessings, a completely different way of looking at life, along with all the normal hormonal teenage angst. Life can be interesting at times!

At three he stood in the middle of a football sized grassy area in our local park in London, pulled down his trousers, mooned at the passing world, stood up and shouted at the top of his voice ’My Mom is 35 today’ .I was there was no denying that point. Nor was there denying at that age that my son had a special intelligence. The nursery nurses at his school argued over who would have the pleasure of sitting with him in the book corner to listen to him read. His temper tantrums were legendary. There was no argument as to who was dealing with them; the teacher!

When he was nearly four and I was bemoaning the fact that he had never slept through the night, well except once by accident when he was 9 months old and I woke one morning to see daylight (I never set my alarm, I never needed to) was momentarily confused and then rushed to his cot to check he was still breathing, I was warned that teenagers were far more exhausting to deal with. I dismissed this comment as from someone who had no idea about the world I inhabited but the words were indeed uttered by a woman of wisdom and experience and returned to haunt me.

They say you should never enter a teenagers personal domain, aka bedroom, known to me as the black hole for household objects enter that room and are never seen again. A couple of weeks ago I knew that I could leave it no longer. Previous excursions to the room previously known as bedroom have resulted in unpleasant discoveries, some of which I cannot detail here for fear of upsetting sensibilities, so I donned rubber gloves, old clothes and reminded myself that there was  a shower with my name engraved upon it at the end. I started by clearing the gunk from the sides and underneath the bed. Two bin bags filled with old Doritos packets, soft drinks bottles and energy drink cans later, I examined  the walls and radiator and knew that scrubbing was the only answer. Every time I kneeled down by the radiator my nose was assaulted by the most vile aroma. We’d been having aroma issues for a while and had not been able to pinpoint the exact source of  Canal No5, just that it was in the general direction of the black hole. Now it appeared that the cupboard by the radiator may hold the answer. I drew a breath, held it and opened the draw. My preventative measures were in vain for the stench was all powerful and not of this earth. I gently reached into the cupboard and drew out t shirts, handfuls of them, all enveloped in the stench of a million rotting corpses. Every single one of them had to be laundered. Eventually at the bottom I discovered the source; an old sandwich box c.2006. It was sealed. The contents were indescribable in terms of structure but in colour they were black. I suspect the insect life within may have proved fascinating for biologists the world over, leading to the classification of several new species along with an entirely new genus for fungus.

Ok so I’m a slattern, What sort of woman leaves it 6 years between cleaning out cupboards/ Well a busy one with better things to do with her time says me in my defence! The sandwich box was disposed off (sorry Walsall Refuse Collectors) and the cupboard duly scrubbed. Son walks in a few hours later and remarks that the ‘smell’ has gone. Too right it has.

No doubt there are many mothers with similar stories to tell. I hope so because it means that despite evidence to the contrary, my lovely son is just the same as any other teenager. I do hope so.

Hopefully he’ll be off to University in just over 12 months time and if so then who knows what will be discovered in the ensuing mass extermination and deep cleaning process that will be  a very necessary evil following the tearful departure. I don’t half love him though and I will miss him and I will promise him not sell up, depart and not leave a forwarding address. He’s a joy…no, really he is.

Happy 18th Birthday Son.

Oh and for the record I now have the use of several dozen utensils formerly lost, plates, mugs and glasses galore. I love my dishwasher as well as my son....

LITTER PICK AT THE LIME PITS

A Friends Group for Park Lime Pits has recently been formed. As a getting to know you exercise, there will be a litter pick tomorrow. That's Wed 13 June 2012! Meet 6pm at the Manor Arms Car Park.

Everyone is welcome including children so please pop your wellies on and come along.

Following the litter pick there will be the first meeting of the steering group for the Friends. Again, all are very welcome.

Hope to see you there.