Sunday, 24 February 2019
Just rediscovered my blog. Horrified to see how H was exercising coercive control over me - he refused to get a job and said I was racist for suggesting he should do so instead of 'pursuing his dream' of becoming an accountant. I eventually found him a free ACCA course at Hackney Community College, which kept him out of the job market for another year or so, while he took one of the exams 7 times. He found a job with an African woman who ran a community organisation, doing the bookkeeping for it, but had a row with her about providing receipts for fabrics bought for an event, and also found it very challenging working for a female. He resigned before she sacked him.
Tuesday, 7 October 2014
Catching up, a situation report.
Now I have rediscovered my blog, thanks indirectly to my sister, and been encouraged to continue by a kind reply FIVE years ago, I must make an effort to write...This post will be a bit of a situation report.
Here I am, still in Hackney after all these years, 22 in this house to be accurate, and THIRTY in the borough. How it has changed in that time, perhaps most over the last ten years. In the past decade, the property market has catapulted Hackney to the top quartile of the most expensive London boroughs to live in. Finally Broadway market took off, Chatsworth market was revived, residents' parking was introduced and rapidly spread across the borough, farmers' markets and pop up shops sprang up, the old junk shops and house clearance depots disappeared, drinkers were driven from the Town Hall Square, every square metre of wasteland or brown field was developed, grand houses in the leafy avenues around London Fields and Victoria Park were colonised by high earning city professionals who painted the outside Farrow and Ball black, we had the Olympics, Yet the Narrow Way, a pretty little tail end of Mare Street, with a wide variety of architectural styles apparent in the upper storeys of buildings housing mostly pawn shops, phone shops or fast food 'outlets', held out against such gentrification. Marks and Spencer continues to sit snootily next to 'Primani', and when poor old Woolworths fell victim to the recession, locals' hopes for a Waitrose or Pizza Express were cruelly dashed by the red and white fascia of a SECOND Iceland...Now the lovely little turning, next to the churchyard, owned by St John at Hackney, home to the faux Georgian Vicarage and the wonderful old Scouts Den, a pine panelled Andersen shelter with the former stables attached, featuring on colder days an open fire, is to become a gated community of the ubiquitous and misnamed affordable housing.
That's just central Hackney; elsewhere we have acquired the Picturehouse with its four screens, bar and restaurant, numerous coffeehouses, restaurants, street feasts, wine shops, wine bars, a local brewery, the Bakehouse, art galleries, or curated spaces, and local or metro versions of all the main supermarkets (except Waitrose!). London Fields has become a destination in the summer, its onetime all weather ball pitch transformed into a wildflower meadow, the Lido restored and hosting evenings of underwater music, and on a balmy evening, every surface encrusted with picnicing hipsters and swarming with cyclists.
(TBC)
Here I am, still in Hackney after all these years, 22 in this house to be accurate, and THIRTY in the borough. How it has changed in that time, perhaps most over the last ten years. In the past decade, the property market has catapulted Hackney to the top quartile of the most expensive London boroughs to live in. Finally Broadway market took off, Chatsworth market was revived, residents' parking was introduced and rapidly spread across the borough, farmers' markets and pop up shops sprang up, the old junk shops and house clearance depots disappeared, drinkers were driven from the Town Hall Square, every square metre of wasteland or brown field was developed, grand houses in the leafy avenues around London Fields and Victoria Park were colonised by high earning city professionals who painted the outside Farrow and Ball black, we had the Olympics, Yet the Narrow Way, a pretty little tail end of Mare Street, with a wide variety of architectural styles apparent in the upper storeys of buildings housing mostly pawn shops, phone shops or fast food 'outlets', held out against such gentrification. Marks and Spencer continues to sit snootily next to 'Primani', and when poor old Woolworths fell victim to the recession, locals' hopes for a Waitrose or Pizza Express were cruelly dashed by the red and white fascia of a SECOND Iceland...Now the lovely little turning, next to the churchyard, owned by St John at Hackney, home to the faux Georgian Vicarage and the wonderful old Scouts Den, a pine panelled Andersen shelter with the former stables attached, featuring on colder days an open fire, is to become a gated community of the ubiquitous and misnamed affordable housing.
That's just central Hackney; elsewhere we have acquired the Picturehouse with its four screens, bar and restaurant, numerous coffeehouses, restaurants, street feasts, wine shops, wine bars, a local brewery, the Bakehouse, art galleries, or curated spaces, and local or metro versions of all the main supermarkets (except Waitrose!). London Fields has become a destination in the summer, its onetime all weather ball pitch transformed into a wildflower meadow, the Lido restored and hosting evenings of underwater music, and on a balmy evening, every surface encrusted with picnicing hipsters and swarming with cyclists.
(TBC)
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
I actually experienced a shiver down my spine when hearing Barack Obama's inauguration speech as I drove home last night. Then I shed tears as I watched the beautiful couple striding through DC, Michelle so proud and supportive in the way she held the bible for her husband, rather like as at a marriage. I felt sad again that we are where we are, still struggling, me earning the same as 20 years ago, only now that salary is supporting 5 people, not one. My mother is so denigratory (?is that right?) and constantly says things like 'anyone can do what you're doing, you're not using your skills' and 'its really not satisfactory, such a waste of your education. Still I daresay you couldn't cope with any more...'.
As usual difficult to get the children fed and to bed, then sat with H to proof read his project proposal. He is somewhat prone to collecting jargon and then puts it all together, so I have to keep checking his actual intention. Had a good session with Yr 3 today, learning about what a Roman soldier would have believed. They retained and analysed incredibly well considering it was all unfamiliar. The morning children were a bit more frustrating, having in most cases forgotten their strategies for reading, or unable to transfer them to writing. Its not at all true that anyone could do it, and perhaps especially, my mother could not, lacking empathy as she does. Still, I love her, and with her recent illnesses, often wonder how I will miss her...certainly her humour, when merely dry and not spiced with spite, her interest in the arts, her knowledge of what I like in material terms. I found myself thinking who will love and care for me like she does? Who will give me those thoughtful little things? Certainly not my husband.
Well, back to the grindstone. Should try and get to the parking shop...to sort out an overpayment of £364...they drive me mad.
As usual difficult to get the children fed and to bed, then sat with H to proof read his project proposal. He is somewhat prone to collecting jargon and then puts it all together, so I have to keep checking his actual intention. Had a good session with Yr 3 today, learning about what a Roman soldier would have believed. They retained and analysed incredibly well considering it was all unfamiliar. The morning children were a bit more frustrating, having in most cases forgotten their strategies for reading, or unable to transfer them to writing. Its not at all true that anyone could do it, and perhaps especially, my mother could not, lacking empathy as she does. Still, I love her, and with her recent illnesses, often wonder how I will miss her...certainly her humour, when merely dry and not spiced with spite, her interest in the arts, her knowledge of what I like in material terms. I found myself thinking who will love and care for me like she does? Who will give me those thoughtful little things? Certainly not my husband.
Well, back to the grindstone. Should try and get to the parking shop...to sort out an overpayment of £364...they drive me mad.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
H complained that I only talk about him getting a job, but what am I to do? heard yesterday that there are fifty people chasing every job, in this area much worse, only 65 vacancies for 3,161 people registered on JSA (which H isnt even getting). I know that many, most even, of those might not actually be looking for work, but the odds are still pretty bad. Told him to try the City, Holborn, Islington, etc, as I have told him before without effect. Its all v depressing, affecting our sleep and love life...not to mention the ongoing domestic chaos. We can only pray (as in fact a writer said in the newspaper yesterday), and today is a day in history. I'm praying for Barack today as well...he will be Baby P's inspiration.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
My first post
Here goes, my first post. Why am I doing this? Why does anyone? Is anyone interested in my dysfunctional life in inner city London, does anyone share these feelings and experiences?
Setting the scene: at home on the (ragged old George Smith) sofa, in my tartan (vintage Boden) dressing gown and Primark pj's, two boys upstairs still going to bed noisily, the little one fast asleep in my bed downstairs (fingers crossed he doesnt wet it again as I cant cope with anymore washing, nowhere to hang it and not enough radiators). The fathers of the offspring are 1) living with extremely elderly mother in Thameside leafy suburb 2) delivering tweed jackets to fellow Cameroonian in Plumstead. On the TV, light relief, Ben Stiller, absolutely love his movies, and on the hi fi, Renaissance love songs which I inflicted on them during Sunday lunch (roast chick, baked Maris pipers, brussels). I'm trying to resist nibbling (mince pie and M & S extremely thick brandy cream) so perhaps writing this will help.
We went to church today and when I saw Baby P's class TA, who is helping him settle in, thought we would sit next to her as it might help him behave. Husband's preferred position is in the last row at the back. Children were invited to go to the room at the back during the sermon, then when we returned, just before the Peace, he whispered angrily to me that he would not kiss me, as is our custom, just greet. This seems rather petty as I write it, and maybe nothing worth noting, but I did feel hurt, and felt as if I was meant to feel hurt. I told him he was a hypocrite. Afterwards, at coffee in the hall, one of the ladies of the church saw him being angry with me, and while I went off to buy the papers (Mail, only for the free Lennon CD) she cornered him and when I returned, he was being told he should get a proper job immediately, rather than waste time setting up his not for profit service providing environmental education to schools. He tried making various excuses along the lines of racism, looking after the little one, was studying until June...but she pointed out that her son in law, also African, had worked the whole time since marrying her daughter (who tragically died of a stroke aged only 40, and her widower is still looking after his stepchildren). She said there is an agency in a shopping precint a couple of miles away used by Africans, and made him agree he would try it.
We married in the same church nearly five years ago; so little has happened in our lives, and yet so much, and it now feels quite different. Then we were hopeful, new parents, him with a new country, new life and new stepchildren. Not much was new for me, but we planned to go to Cameroon and set up an educational charity there, I would teach and pursue art projects....there followed a long war of atrition with the Home Office; he was detained for the second time in Dungavel, previously it was Campsfield...his lawyers were closed by the Law Society, asylum claim rejected, we appealed, I went to court with him twice and eventually he was given limited leave to remain nearly two years ago. As he couldnt work at first I found him a course at the local college as he wanted to do accountancy; he had been a qualified teacher back home.
In the meantime, I was coping with everything else, the two big ones, the new baby, and finishing my PGCE, then finding a job, then doing an incredibly stressful NQT year in a school plum in the middle of a postcode war zone. I was going through a early menopause (no doubt caused by stress) and had a bunionectomy (yes, really) which went septic, followed closely by a nasty bout of double pneumonia, add in an appeal for the secondary school of choice for the elder boy, and living on one minimal salary...in a house which is overcrowded by the accepted definition, plus all my friends have left the area in the last few years...things couldnt have been much worse. No wonder I was on anti depressants.
Things got better last year when I moved to another school and I now have a wonderful job which is in fact my 'safe place'. Husband (H) failed accountancy finals, (yes I know they are notoriously difficult) and in any case had by mid summer made no effort to find a job. He had to revise for retakes, and we are now awaiting his results (due Feb). He spent the autumn delivering and collecting little to his nursery and playgroup, and so is now free to get going as little has finally gone fulltime.
Running out of steam now, or getting depressed thinking about all this, so closing soon. This week weve got registration for confirmation classes, for eldest. Something on Friday cant remember what, and then I'm thinking of going to my old college for a private view of an exhibition, think on Sat. Would be nice to get together with an old friend I used to work with who lives there, maybe I could stay overnight, think I deserve a break, but it wont be popular with H. And the Al Green album I ordered, Lay it down, should arrive, and Barack Obama heralds a Brave New World from Tuesday.
Setting the scene: at home on the (ragged old George Smith) sofa, in my tartan (vintage Boden) dressing gown and Primark pj's, two boys upstairs still going to bed noisily, the little one fast asleep in my bed downstairs (fingers crossed he doesnt wet it again as I cant cope with anymore washing, nowhere to hang it and not enough radiators). The fathers of the offspring are 1) living with extremely elderly mother in Thameside leafy suburb 2) delivering tweed jackets to fellow Cameroonian in Plumstead. On the TV, light relief, Ben Stiller, absolutely love his movies, and on the hi fi, Renaissance love songs which I inflicted on them during Sunday lunch (roast chick, baked Maris pipers, brussels). I'm trying to resist nibbling (mince pie and M & S extremely thick brandy cream) so perhaps writing this will help.
We went to church today and when I saw Baby P's class TA, who is helping him settle in, thought we would sit next to her as it might help him behave. Husband's preferred position is in the last row at the back. Children were invited to go to the room at the back during the sermon, then when we returned, just before the Peace, he whispered angrily to me that he would not kiss me, as is our custom, just greet. This seems rather petty as I write it, and maybe nothing worth noting, but I did feel hurt, and felt as if I was meant to feel hurt. I told him he was a hypocrite. Afterwards, at coffee in the hall, one of the ladies of the church saw him being angry with me, and while I went off to buy the papers (Mail, only for the free Lennon CD) she cornered him and when I returned, he was being told he should get a proper job immediately, rather than waste time setting up his not for profit service providing environmental education to schools. He tried making various excuses along the lines of racism, looking after the little one, was studying until June...but she pointed out that her son in law, also African, had worked the whole time since marrying her daughter (who tragically died of a stroke aged only 40, and her widower is still looking after his stepchildren). She said there is an agency in a shopping precint a couple of miles away used by Africans, and made him agree he would try it.
We married in the same church nearly five years ago; so little has happened in our lives, and yet so much, and it now feels quite different. Then we were hopeful, new parents, him with a new country, new life and new stepchildren. Not much was new for me, but we planned to go to Cameroon and set up an educational charity there, I would teach and pursue art projects....there followed a long war of atrition with the Home Office; he was detained for the second time in Dungavel, previously it was Campsfield...his lawyers were closed by the Law Society, asylum claim rejected, we appealed, I went to court with him twice and eventually he was given limited leave to remain nearly two years ago. As he couldnt work at first I found him a course at the local college as he wanted to do accountancy; he had been a qualified teacher back home.
In the meantime, I was coping with everything else, the two big ones, the new baby, and finishing my PGCE, then finding a job, then doing an incredibly stressful NQT year in a school plum in the middle of a postcode war zone. I was going through a early menopause (no doubt caused by stress) and had a bunionectomy (yes, really) which went septic, followed closely by a nasty bout of double pneumonia, add in an appeal for the secondary school of choice for the elder boy, and living on one minimal salary...in a house which is overcrowded by the accepted definition, plus all my friends have left the area in the last few years...things couldnt have been much worse. No wonder I was on anti depressants.
Things got better last year when I moved to another school and I now have a wonderful job which is in fact my 'safe place'. Husband (H) failed accountancy finals, (yes I know they are notoriously difficult) and in any case had by mid summer made no effort to find a job. He had to revise for retakes, and we are now awaiting his results (due Feb). He spent the autumn delivering and collecting little to his nursery and playgroup, and so is now free to get going as little has finally gone fulltime.
Running out of steam now, or getting depressed thinking about all this, so closing soon. This week weve got registration for confirmation classes, for eldest. Something on Friday cant remember what, and then I'm thinking of going to my old college for a private view of an exhibition, think on Sat. Would be nice to get together with an old friend I used to work with who lives there, maybe I could stay overnight, think I deserve a break, but it wont be popular with H. And the Al Green album I ordered, Lay it down, should arrive, and Barack Obama heralds a Brave New World from Tuesday.
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