Posted by: madkentdragon | April 8, 2014

A Pensioner’s View on Maria Miller

So another MP has been caught fiddling – or forgetting to adjust – their expenses, no surprise there and I just shrugged my shoulders and thought “Not surprised, all snouts in the trough together”

But then I read that she had tried to avoid the inquiry – a bit like a charlatan lawyer tries to get his obviously guilty client a not guilty verdict by twisting the law.

Now that’s definitely a bit fishy as far as I’m concerned – or am I being naïve?

Then came the allegation that the MP’s aides tried to stop a newspaper publishing the allegations by invoking Leveson – now to me that is blackmail, isn’t it?

So  she tried to avoid the Inquiry and  prevent the publication of the allegations, if you’ve got nothing to hide, why is this happening?

I don’t care whether the amount fiddled is thousands or ten bob, the point here is that a Member of Parliament is tried to avoid – well what was she trying to avoid – ah! The TRUTH!

Now MPs are there, elected by us to ensure that laws are made to protect the people, in other words we elect them to serve our nation – us!

Now she’s hiding behind the Prime Minister who seems to have lost the plot! She is allowed to keep her house and the profit she made but anyone who mis-claims benefits could lose theirs if found guilty – that’s if they own one.

So come on Dave, either you’re guilty and lose your house or not – you can’t have it both ways – benefit claimants don’t have the luxury of a second home like Maria Miller – so sort it out.

Posted by: madkentdragon | March 27, 2014

Old – Me? Not on your life!

I have been reading and hearing quite a lot about feminism and ageism recently and it’s beginning to annoy me!

So here goes:

I am 66 years old, retired, overweight and short; I also have one or two medical problems that limit my mobility – but do I feel old – NO! Why should I?

I am me and you are you, I’m sure that although I’m probably classified as an old fart who should sit in the corner and knit for her grandchildren, I don’t and won’t. I see each day as an opportunity to find something out or learn something – sorry if I sound sanctimonious, but don’t write me off as, even with my wrinkles which I consider experience lines, I feel young at heart.

I dress to feel comfortable, certainly won’t wear vertiginous heels – but that doesn’t mean I can’t wear court shoes – haven’t got the figure for fashionable short skirts, but you won’t catch me in tweed (sorry if you like tweed).

I’ll admit to you now that with my weight, if I was 8 foot tall, I could wear fashionable stuff, so I stick to my style and enjoy it. I must say here that those who want to wear clothes who show lots of cleavage and flash the panties or g-string with short skirts and tell me it’s your right, I’ll agree with you – but consider if a man left his flies undone and flashed his pants or nether regions, you would complain, wouldn’t you?

What’s good for the gander is good for the goose – that’s equality, so consider what you look like when you do go out. I can’t dress like that, but I will dress smartly and hold my own in conversation with all age groups, because inside I’m certainly not 66, nearer half that age.

I come from an age in which I had no rights, I couldn’t vote until I was 21 and even then could not sign the forms for my own operation, my then husband had to sign the forms! Now kids can go for an abortion without their parents knowing and yet mine was a life saving operation but I had no rights to sign myself!

So, I have seen Women’s Lib, didn’t burn my bra – they would have been too uncomfortable without a bra! But I have always believed that women and men should be equal, be paid the same and be treated the same. But even now, men in their fifties get treated a lot different to women of the same age. Why? Even the BBC do it!

Women in their fifties have usually finished with the child rearing and want to get on with life and enjoy it – are men frightened of us not being the “little woman”, well I’ve got news for you most of us have never been that.

Most of us have had to work whilst the kids were at school and now we want to get on and make sure we have money to spend and to save for our pensions. We are bright and willing to learn the modern office or other work place and are usually reliable.

So why do you think we are invisible, OK – we aren’t “bright young things” on the outside and probably won’t boost a male bosses ego as much – but we are just as young inside and won’t get pushed in the corner of life – because we have built up a lot of knowledge, empathy and common sense, and we know we can get on with life.

So don’t look at the wrinkles, look underneath at the vibrant woman shining through.

Finally, I got my last promotion when I was 54 and I wouldn’t be knitting for my grandchildren – if I could knit – it would be for my great-grandchildren!

So come on you ladies in your fifties and above, best foot forward and shine.

Posted by: madkentdragon | March 8, 2014

Why Not International Equality Day?

So it’s International Women’s Day, but what does that actually mean? In the so-called enlightened world it’s a case of “Not those feminists again” and in the unenlightened world, who will take notice?

For all the conferences, publicity and pretty pictures of women enjoying life, there are women all over the world living in fear, ignorance and under the thumb of a male dominated society.

After all that, what will change?

For every picture of a drunk female in a mini skirt falling out of a club, there is a woman somewhere who can’t even go outside her front door without permission.

I’m not knocking those who choose to go out and get drunk – it’s their choice and they have the freedom to choose, but it’s not happening everywhere – even in this country.

There are not just ethnic minorities living under the heavy hand of their male relatives, there are also British women who are ruled by fear of fathers or husbands who would rise their fist to them if they dared to suggest a girls’ night out.

Yet this is meant to be a free, educated country, but it is also a country where parents still stop girls furthering their education because it’s a waste of money because they will get married in a few years.

Let’s face it, when political parties have to set targets to get enough women prospective candidates to stand in elections and edicts fly about to get women on to the boards of directors, we are not completely free.

When women apply for a job that has traditionally been in the male domain, they have to be twice as good as the next male candidate to get the post and then work twice as hard, because if she makes a mistake it will because she is a woman. Trust me on this, I was the only female in a male dominated job in the whole of the south of England – and that was only fifteen years ago. However, as the salary wasn’t that good, more women took the posts as men moved on to better paid jobs; the salary was adequate for me to keep myself on.

It’s time that women were on an equal footing to men, despite all the legislation we aren’t there yet – will we ever be? And if we can’t get equality, what chance have those in the male dominated countries got?


So stop celebrating “International Women’s Day” and start celebrating “International Equality Day”

Posted by: madkentdragon | March 5, 2014

Remembering Grandad’s War

I don’t normally write this type of story, but was asked to write one for “Paws & Claws” which is obviously a site for pet owners. It had to be about the 100 years anniversary of WWI and include a dog. The Facebook page for this site is

Here’s the story:

I sat on the white concrete bench; funny that they always seemed to be nice and clean, not like the park benches back home. The cardboard box and carrier bag sat by my feet as I looked round over the landscape, everything was so well tended and even the buildings and wall looked spotless.

My mind drifted back to the first time I’d sat there, was it really nearly fifty years ago?

I had been nine years old, and Dad, Mum, my brother Bob and I had brought Granddad here – it was a big adventure to me as it was the first time I had been abroad and the ferry trip and taking the car on the wrong side of the road through the countryside was amazing.

Even the houses had looked brand new and different to the ones back home, the place we had stopped for a coffee and sandwiches was exciting and confusing to a young lad, with all the foreign languages floating around.

And now we were here, Dad, Mum and Bob wandered off to look round the graves, but I sat here on this very same bench with Granddad as he looked over all the war graves.

“Didn’t look like this last time I saw it” he said, I don’t think he realised I was still sitting there as he rested his chin on his gnarled old hands gripping the walking stick that he’d used for as long as I could remember.

“What did it look like then?” I ventured – and then he told me, and what he said has stayed with me all my life. He only lived for a few more years, but to me he was a hero – not a grumpy old man with a limp. My granddad, my hero – and he still was, even though I was now 59, a hero with a heart.

“I was seventeen when The Great War broke out – just too young to volunteer, but on my eighteenth birthday I went straight to the recruiting office and signed up. My Mum was really upset, Dad worked in a war factory, he’d had an accident a couple of years ago and one of his arms didn’t work properly and he only had one eye, so she hoped that we would all follow him and go in to war work and not volunteer. My two eldest brothers had signed up, and one had been killed, so she was really upset that I had taken the King’s Shilling.

Well, the first six weeks in the army were spent on what they called basic training, what that meant was being taught how to march and salute, run and stab a sack of sand and how to shoot a gun. Wasn’t too bad that, but no one told us what war was really like and the uniforms were hot, itchy and fit where they touched. I swapped my boots with Joe, his were too small and mine were too big – nearly fell off me feet as I tried to march. Well, Joe and me palled up after that, sharing cigarettes and stories – nice to have a best mate, poor old Joe….”

I remember looking up at Granddad as his voice trailed off and he was wiping a tear from his eye, I didn’t say anything and wondered what had upset him so much.

He cleared his throat as I watched the rest of the family looking round the graves, they looked quite small – it was a really big cemetery, it didn’t mean so much to me then, but now I knew that each one was a life lost, so many lives.

“Then they decided we were as ready as we would ever be and we marched to the station and boarded trains that took us all the way down the country to Kent, big open countryside it was then, full of fruit trees and fields of vegetables – coming from the town, I’d never seen anything like it – me Dad had an allotment for growing veg and the like, but this was acres upon acres of the stuff and then we got of the train in Folkestone and marched on to the ships to take us over there. Big ships they was, bigger than the fishing boats near to where I came from and there were hundreds of us on board.

It didn’t take us long to go over the channel, it was the first time I’d seen those white cliffs, they looked magnificent in the sun and some old timers who were going back were saying that they hoped that they would see them again after facing hell. Well we all wondered what they meant, but they had been ordered not to talk to us, think the officers thought that we would get frightened by what they told us.

When we got off the boat, we were lined up in our regiments and ordered to march off, we knew we was in France and thought that was where we were going to stay, but two days later we arrived in Belgium. On the way, we had passed ambulances and really tired looking men marching, or trying to march back the way we came. We passed a lot of damaged buildings and foreign people, well really we were the foreigners, pushing their belongings in prams and carts, I suppose they was trying to get away from the fighting – well they couldn’t live in those falling down buildings could they?

Any way we arrived in this town and we was allowed to wander round the town after we’d done a parade and some jobs, the men called it Wipers, but now I know it’s really called Ypres. Joe and I was looking for somewhere to sit down away from all the wounded men who were either being patched up to go back to fight or were waiting to be shipped back to Blighty – poor souls, eyes gone, limbs missing….” again Granddad trailed off as he remembered. It must have been a shock to a young man who had only gone as far as the next town and never seen any one badly injured.

“Joe and me found a seat on a wall, near a church and I heard a howling noise, it sounded like a frightened puppy; I looked round but couldn’t see one any where. Joe had nodded off, he hadn’t been sleeping well, think it frightened him more than it frightened me – let him sleep while he could, we’d listened to what those wounded blokes had said, that you could go for days without sleep if it got a ‘bit busy’.

I finally realised that the dog noise was coming from a shed just round the corner, I knocked at the house but no one was there, it looked empty and so I went over to the shed and opened the door and this black and white bundle came running out! T stopped at my feet and looked up at me, I had a couple of those dry biscuits in my pocket and I broke a bit off one and gave it to this black and white splodgy dog with a black patch over one eye.

It followed me back to where Joe was and looked at me with those big dark eyes, so I gave him the rest of the biscuits and Patch as I thought of him gobbled them up and flopped on my foot. I nudged Joe awake and said goodbye to my fluffy friend and headed back to our billets, only to find that the silly dog followed!

We had to get ready to go on parade as there was some general coming to talk to us and I rushed to tidy up and re-polish my boots and completely forgot about Patch until we got back a few hours later. That general had droned on for ages, ‘fond of his own voice’ as young Jim declared – all our backs and legs ached as he’d kept us standing for ages.

And there, in the middle of my pallet was Patch, wagging his tail, pleased to see me; I tried to shoo him away, but nothing worked but he learned to keep out the way when the CSM or an officer came round. He was a loyal little friend to me and I could talk to him about my family and my fears and know that I wouldn’t get teased about it; very discreet was my new friend.

Trouble was, a few weeks later we had to go to the front and I couldn’t take Patch with me, but I asked one of the clerks – one of the jammy ones who never really got anywhere near the front but sit shuffling paper all day – to keep an eye on him for me until or if I returned. He agreed and so I handed him over and walked away, trying to ignore the whimpers that tore at my heart.

We marched off and we could smell and hear the battlefield long before we got there, those soldiers we’d met on the ferry were right, it smelled like hell. There was mud everywhere and the trenches were full of men who were resting, trying to keep their weapons dry or helping someone who had been injured. I was so frightened by it all that I had to stop myself from turning back – Joe was shivering with fear and this was a ‘quiet time’.

We were put in  position and a young officer who looked as scared as we felt explained that we must rest until the next assault was called and then we would climb out of the trench and try to get across no man’s land and take the trenches where the enemy was. The aim of the assault was to take back the village of Passchendaele from them. I looked over at it, it was less than half a mile away and in ruins, why would we want to capture that. But as the poet said ‘Ours not to question why, Ours but to do or die’” Granddad stopped again and now as an older man, I can imagine what he could still see and it was terrifying.

He started talking again, “Anyway, I found somewhere dry to put my kit and saw that someone was brewing up, so I took some tea leaves over to add in to get a cup, never did get used to that tinned milk, sat down and dug out a couple of dry biscuits and you’d never guess what happened next. Suddenly there was this really muddy furry thing jumping all over me, he must have followed all the way – poor wee thing. He was that pleased to see me that he wouldn’t stop licking me; he looked fair worn out but happy as well. I gave him some water and shared the biscuits with him, poor little Patch must have been really tired – I was and his little legs was a lot shorter than mine.

We both fell asleep, but we wasn’t asleep for long when someone shouted ‘incoming’, well I didn’t know what that meant but I soon found out – there was this almighty bang and smoke and loads of mud and earth flew into the air and rained down on me. Patch jumped on my lap and I sheltered him as much as I could, but I could feel his little body shaking. I looked at him and said ‘now you know why I didn’t want you to come’, but he just cocked his head to one side and gazed at me with them big brown eyes and licked my nose.

He soon began to earn his keep, there was rats every where, chewed at the food, your socks and even you if you weren’t careful, but Private Patch, first class rat-catcher, got rid of ‘em all and soon he was being fed by us all in thanks for what he was doing. Became quite a pet he did, but whenever we had to go over the top he insisted on following, even chewed through a rope to follow me.

The regiment had been fighting on and off for about three months when it all happened, I think the enemy had got some bigger guns up, because on this day,Thursday it was, in April ‘cos all the poppies was growing where the shells hadn’t hit and the whistle went for us all to go over the top. We got a bit further this time and five of us at the front found a gap in the barbed wire to get through and a shell hit us, killed poor old Joe straight away, but the other two like me was only wounded and we lay there calling for a medic. I felt Patch cuddling up to me as if to give me comfort when two or three of the enemy came rushing up to us shouting and shooting, well I shot back; Paddy was trying to but he’d lost part of his arm and Fred was out cold, but I could still see him breathing. I managed to shoot two of them, but the third one came rushing up with his bayonet fixed – straight for me.

Well Patch wasn’t having any of that, and like the terrier he was, he went for him – got his teeth stuck right through the blighter’s hand, the bloke tried to shake him off but Patch clung on until he was hit by the bayonet”. A tear trickled down Granddad’s face and he took a deep breath and fell silent for a minute.

“Patch was wounded, and I shot the man where he stood, I was probably in the wrong, but he’d hurt my Patch. I pulled myself over to him and he pulled himself over to me, we’d both got wounded legs; I don’t remember much more till the medics came to pick us up, the other two blokes was still alive and Paddy was telling them how Patch and I had protected them, when the medics picked me up, I made sure Patch came too. He’d lost a lot of blood but I held him on my chest and could feel his heart still beating as they carried me to the medical tents, just over there they was”, he pointed past the big cross to a patch of ground by a fence.

“They couldn’t do much with me and they had to cut the bottom bit of my leg off, Paddy survived, but he only had the one arm and Fred wasn’t right in the head and had gone blind, as for my best pal Patch, I tried to look after him, but the vets there only dealt with the horses and he’d lost so much blood that nothing could be done to save him. But I was with him to the end, the nurses saw how upset it made me if they tried to take him away and he died with his head on my shoulder and they helped take him out and bury him, just by that fence over there, one of the nurses put a little cross up for me before she wheeled me back in to the tent.

“I got given a medal for bravery and shipped home soon after and spent the rest of the war in the factory, just as my Mum wanted me to, but with a false bottom bit to my leg.”

Granddad stopped, bent down and picked up the wreath and said “Come on, lets go and find Joe’s name on that wall, he was a Northumberland Fusilier, just like me” and we laid the wreath by the wall that had Joe’s name on and then I walked with Granddad over to the big cross where he stopped and took out a little wooden cross with a poppy on it and just one word “Patch” and laid it on one of the steps.

We went back to the hotel soon after that and now fifty years later, here I was at Tyne Cot with the wreath for Joe and the little cross for Patch, carrying out the promise that I’d made to Granddad when he was dying.

I will remember Granddad, and Joe, and there’s a special place in my heart to remember Patch – the dog who had saved Granddad’s life.


Posted by: madkentdragon | February 11, 2014

And What Did Your MP Do To Help During The Floods?

We’ve all seen pictures and TV shots of the prime minister, deputy prime minister and leader of the opposition as well as leaders of agencies – oh and of course Nigel Farage, standing in water that doesn’t quite reach the top of their pristine wellingtons.

But what have they actually done to help?

We’ve seen them all pontificating and much pointing of fingers, wringing of hands and calling of meetings – but what have they done to help?

Have any helped to pour tea at a rescue centre, hired a boat to rescue people or even filled a sand bag?

I’m sure that if they had the press would have taken full advantage of a prettily posed politician with a tea pot, spade or an oar and it would have been splashed all over the papers.

There are two reasons that I ask this  – the first is listening to two volunteers who set up a rescue centre off their own backs with no help from the authorities and were desperately trying to help – oh yes and there was the man who had driven from Essex to help in any way he could. So where were the politicians?

The second reason is when a politician did help and did not court publicity – remember that horrendous multi-car pile up on the Sheppey Bridge last year?

The reporters were all there commenting on the terrible scene, when one spotted the local MP and called him over – he arrived and was talking coherently about the accident, when the reporter noticed blood on his clothes.

He assured them it was all right, he wasn’t hurt, but had been helping out – he hadn’t courted publicity – just got on and helped.

I don’t care what party Gordon Henderson MP follows, what I do care is that he revealed a caring side and this surely shows how the publicity seeking poseurs reveal their true selves.

So MPs – What did you do to help during the floods?

Posted by: madkentdragon | February 10, 2014

I Don’t Care Whose Fault It Is (Floods)

I have refrained from commenting on the floods but now I am so annoyed that I have to get it down on paper.

The attitude of those who are supposed to be in charge of dealing with/causing it has degenerated into school boy name calling – no real surprise there really, I was waiting for it.

What is annoying is that by the time each chair or whatever their title is this week has spent time with their spin doctors to come up with suitable denials or insults, the floods are getting worse.

Who cares who caused it now – let’s get it fixed and then hang out the culprits to dry once everything is back to how it should be.

OK, the rivers can’t be dredged now – and we all admit that it should have been done; as one farmer said if he had not kept his ditches clear he could only blame himself if his fields didn’t drain. However those ditches have nowhere to drain to.

We are now building on flood plains which as the name tends to show – flood – did builders or town planners take this into consideration and ensure that the foundations allowed for this or ensure that there was flood protection in place when they built?

I know of areas that cannot get insurance because the area is liable to flood, and has done – so why build there?

We’ve all seen the pictures of houses slipping into the sea, where’s the flood defences? Don’t we ever learn the lessons?

One rather large point that struck me is that we now have areas that resemble third world countries in flood, before you say NO!, remember this – most of the sewers have been flooded, so the water laying on those fields contain raw sewage, this can cause third world diseases. In Kent raw sewage, which has been filtered – not cleaned -  has been pumped into the local rivers from the sewers because it was better than it ending up in houses, this will end up contaminating the river course all the way to the sea – blue flag any one?

Do we have enough vaccines in this country for an outbreak of typhus or cholera, I’m not sure which one is which, but I know they spread fast and are caused by contaminated water – even the ground water is being contaminated – and in places bubbling up through to the surface.

I know things are tight financially all over most of the world, but defence of the health of the country – and financial health with all the roads and rails being blocked would have worked out cheaper than all the clear up operations.

Yes, we’ve had exceptional rainfalls, but would the problems have been a lot less had the defences been maintained – I think so!

So come on you naughty boys, stop poking your tongues out at each other, forget the EU mandates on water parsnip and get on saving the country from the biblical proportion of these floods.

Posted by: madkentdragon | January 11, 2014

The Other Side of Domestic Violence – Bullying

I watched the latest advert on domestic violence the other night and my immediate thought was not “How dare he!” but “She’s going to go through it when she gets home”

“Why?” you may ask, “She’s done what he told her to”

But, she will be interrogated when she gets home – “Did you enjoy yourself without me?”, “Dance with anyone?” – that first question is a double edged one! If she answers “Yes” then she will be accused of not loving him, seeing other men or even women; if she answers “No” then he will suggest that she would be better off staying in or going out with him.

He’s now got her just where he wants her, under his control; it will be described as love, protection or caring about her – but it’s not, it’s control.

You are his possession not a person in your own right.

So when your work colleague starts to make excuses not to come on that monthly girls night out – look at her. It could be that there are financial reasons, but it could be domestic violence in the shape of bullying, it doesn’t always result in bruising, it could be deeper than that, because bruising of the self confidence is worse.

Domestic violence in the form of beatings invokes “tea and sympathy” and help offered to escape; the victim cannot deny the bruises and although may offer excuses, knows that people can tell what has gone on – even the children can recognise this.

Bruising of your self esteem is harder to identify, he loves you and is protecting you – isn’t he? Well no, he is controlling you! There needn’t be any violence, there may have been in the past, but it will evolve into this negating of you as a person and you will be slowly become a possession, subject to his whims – the hidden threat of violence will be there, but no one else will notice it – because it is hidden.

Watch your colleague, does he pick her up from work, coming into the office/shop etc. to wait for her? You may think he is being kind or loving, but look at your colleague, did her eyes light up when she saw him or did she look cowed or embarrassed? Does he ring her during the day – it may be the first flush of love – or is he checking up on her?

If you go out as a couple with them, does he tell her to go to the bar to get the drinks and never take his eyes off her? Does he talk fondly of her, but with a condescending air? Are there hidden insults and put downs about her when she speaks?

The gradual erosion of the self confidence will leave the victim with no self esteem, she will be looking for the put down whenever anyone compliments her on her work or outfit, hair, shoes etc., because that’s what she’s used to.

She will end up thinking that she is worthless and cannot cope by herself, she definitely thinks that she can’t live without him – because he’s told her so.

The reality, could she see it is quite the opposite, the husband/boyfriend is the one who cannot live without her! He has defined his life on his control and domination of her and must keep her there.

She cannot see this and is living in fear, the shepherds pie was a bit scorched on one end, she will make sure that he doesn’t get that bit, but he has noticed it and tells her she can’t cook, say it enough times and she will believe it. Use it to poke fun at her when they are in company and others will laugh at her – even the kids!

Listen, dear victim – you are not an idiot, you are not reliant on him for your food, roof over your head and clothes – you are a working woman, you can keep yourself!

You can do it, you are “WORTH IT” and you are not alone; there are people, colleagues – I won’t say friends because he’s stopped that – out there who realise what is happening and will help.




Posted by: madkentdragon | January 7, 2014

Welcome to the new Dickensian Era

I know most of the cabinet were from private schools and Oxbridge universities and often wore frock coats, but do they really have to take us back to the era when this was the suit of choice for the upper class – the Dickensian era?

You see, I’ve been listening and watching with despair all these cuts and helping “hard working people” – which hard working people are they talking about?

The well paid middle management or the many people who have to exist on the minimum wage, those who really need the housing benefit because they have no hope of buying a house?

Well, these hard working poor are still working and are just as much the “hard working people” as the middle management that all the help seems aimed at.

Imagine Bert, he’s a low paid council worker, never been unemployed, proud to bring his wage packet home – it may be a small wage packet, but he has earned it. He and his wife, Mary, have two children and Mary works, again on minimum wage, as a school cleaner.

They are fortunate, they have a four bedroomed council house and have been awarded Working Tax Credits and Housing benefit. They take their kids to the seaside on days out as they can’t afford holidays and manage to keep themselves debt free – just.

Well they did until they lost part of their housing benefit because they had a spare bedroom and their gas and electricity charges went up. Now they have to turn the heating down and cut out any excessive use of the electricity or the credit on the meters runs out before their salaries come in.

This family is trying its hardest to do the right thing, but there are no three bedroomed houses available in their area, they can’t afford to move too far away, because Mary works to walk and if she had to pay bus fares, it may not be worth her while working.

These two hard workers have had an occasional small wage rise, but were appalled when they heard that MPs were getting 11%  raise in their salary, especially as this came so soon after the deduction in the housing benefit.

As Bert would have said “The rich get richer and can have a second job, Mary, we just get poorer”

Then came the suggestion from one of the Power Companies’ manager that the poor should go to bed early and not drink so many hot drinks which was both insensitive and stupid.

I said at the start that we are returning to the time of Dickens, the hard working poor will be driven from their homes because they can’t afford their rent – it’s already happening look at Fergus Wilson. If these same workers come home to a freezing home and can’t afford a hot drink, will they die of pneumonia or hypothermia? Possibly because the hospitals’ A&E are unable to cope – shall I quote Scrooge here about decreasing the surplus population?

Not all who claim benefits are work-shy chavs, many are on the minimum wage or are being chased off of ESA by unfeeling agents of the government to justify their claims of too many on sickness benefit.

It’s time to wake up to the facts – not all hard working citizens can afford to buy a house, some need affordable rented accommodation without worrying about how to pay for the rent, and the poor shouldn’t have to beg like Oliver Twist for more – they should be treated with consideration, or given a living wage to survive on.

Posted by: madkentdragon | December 13, 2013

Farewell 2013 – Here’s to 2014

OK, I’m a bit premature with this, but I thought I’d better get my two penny worth in before wiser and better people than me do their thing.

If any of you have followed my blogs or tweets, you will know that this has not been the best of years for my family or me – but one thing it has taught me is that we survive.

It’s taught me several other things as well – always make sure your windows are locked! Obvious? Well yes, I know – but when you are tired and can’t reach properly, it doesn’t work that way! But I did learn that my sons care about me and my youngest came racing to my rescue, this meant so much more than the goods I lost.

Property can be replaced, but my family’s support could never, ever be replaced! Thanks son!

I’ve also learned that if the NHS let you down, but you have a good GP who will come out no matter what the time, you are really fortunate. And when that GP fights tooth and nail to get you the best treatment available which saves your life you are the most blessed person in Wales. 

Thank you to the GP in Port Talbot who has rushed to my son and kept him alive countless times in the last six months, this mum really appreciates it.

For the third lesson – one of the simplest lessons that you are taught from a young age; remember the green cross code – forgetting it hurts! But I also learned that good friends rally round and help you – thanks Mags!

I’ve also been teaching Silver Surfers and I’ve learned that retiring for them doesn’t mean slowing down; country walks, bowling, curling and trips out keep them busy in their Active Retirement Association – with the emphasis on Active!

One set of people that I originally missed out – my Facebook and Twitter friends who I have learned can be very supportive – even though they have never met me – thank you.

Yes the years been a bit rough on me – but when I look at what I’ve written, it’s been good to me with the kindness of friends and family and I want to take these memories as well as the lessons in to 2014, so bring it on!

Posted by: madkentdragon | October 21, 2013

We’re All In It Together?

So the Honourable Members of Parliament insist that they need their 11% pay rise, thanks very much!

I will fully agree with this, because it means that we will all get an 11% pay rise doesn’t it? After all, they all keep telling us that “We’re all in it together”, so that means we all get an 11% rise doesn’t it?

If not – why not?

If we don’t will there be a general strike? Doubt it, but I’m beginning to wonder what austerity is all about, or does it only apply to the general public and not to the elite?

OK, I’m a pensioner, not a rich pensioner, but I know I will probably get a rise in my pension each year, but what about all those people who haven’t had a proper pay rise in years?

Drop their taxes and up goes utilities, price of food etc. -  you get my meaning.

How many of these employees get expenses for going to work like the MPs do? I certainly didn’t get subsidized for travel to get to my normal place of employment – but they can even have a residence near their place of work or near their constituency – and get their bills paid for it!

Once upon a time, MPs didn’t receive a wage for attending the house of commons but considered it a privilege to attend and represent their constituency, now it just seems to be a money making institution – not all MPs are this bad – but I would really like to see their expenditure for day to day living – I’ll show them mine in return.

So Having now bored you with my rant, may I suggest one thing to you all, write to your Member of Parliament and ask why they need this enormous rise and ask them if you can have the same – after all “We’re All In It Together” aren’t we?

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