Happy new year

2006, people! I was bombarded with questions from Lauren earlier – how am I? Did I have a good new year? What did I do? What could I have done? What should I have done? What might I do? What won’t I do? I haven’t blogged for a while, partly because it’s all been a bit Christmas-snow-tired-crazy in my head and partly because failing at the DLA tribunal upset me more than I thought it would.

The law is so precisely written that one must be unable or virtually unable to walk before one is eligible for the higher rate of the mobility allowance. I’ve been so angry every time my hips have given me crippling pain when I’ve been stood for longer than a few minutes, every time I’ve had to have a lift somewhere, every time I think about how 2006 isn’t likely to be the year I drive, but rather the year where I have to regurgitate all my problems to MPs and figures like Cherie Blair, to see if they can help.

And so angry when I’ve thought about the tribunal again and all the things I should have said have come flooding into my mind a few days too late, and how I want to rip that lay person on the tribunal panel a new one. Letters have to be written, I just can’t quite bring myself to it yet. I just want to go back in time and make those three on the panel kneel down and use half their arm length. Then remind them that they can get back up again*. And to implore them to look beyond the confinement of the ridiculous law and to use their common and moral sense.

* I flipped out at Mrs Corp one time, shouting this at her. Lauren, you remember holding me back by the shoulders? That’s how I feel at the moment.

Later: you know, call me old-fashioned, but I just don’t think it’s a good sign when you hear a noise when you’re using your straighteners, you look at them, see a blue spark and smell ionised air. No flowers please. Donations to the posh ceramic straighteners for classy ladies and Sarah fund.

But enough of this, what about new year? I celebrated with Suzy and Helen #2 at the Oak Tree in Sevenoaks. There were an awful lot of drunk people there; some were amusing, others tiresome. The tiresome included the guy who came over to work his charm on me and Suzy, who immediately vanished, leaving me alone with him. She said she’d just seen someone she wanted to say hi to. I don’t believe a word of it. This guy was tiresome and didn’t take the hint that I wasn’t interested. Even though the hint was large and included such well known moves as “looking the other way”, “searching around for the “friend” who abandoned me” and, finally, “turning my back and talking to the more attractive, not tiresome drunk on the other side of the table”, who proclaimed, “this girl is fucking brilliant!” – even though I’d thrown one of his cigarettes in the ice bucket.

Then there was Alex, who, although more than tiresome for stealing Suzy’s beautiful Bali scarf for two months, I found to be an amusing drunk that night. In his inebriated state, he was very interested in me. Not in that way, but in this way: stumble, lurch – “can I ask you something?” – trip, blunder – “I’ll be straight … are you a dwarf or a midget?” “A dwarf. Would you like to know the difference between a dwarf and a midget?”. His eyes light up, “Yeah!” “A midget is proportionally small; they have short arms, shorts leg and a short torso. A dwarf has short arms and legs, but the torso is normal length.” … “I’m going to guess how old you are” “Ok” “Show me your teeth” I bare my teeth, wondering if I look like a horse “Turn to the side … front … other side … hmm, 27, 28?” “I’m 24″ “Oh, I was being nice, I thought you were 30″ “Really? Great!” “Eh?” … “Do you have superhuman strength?” “Yes, absolutely,” I said, exaggerrating for my own amusement, before explaining that I do have the standard amount of muscle along half the length of bone. The eyes light up again, “Can I armwrestle you when we get to Damian’s?” “Ok”. Another pause before the next pearl of wisdom falls from his befuddled lips. “Did you know that if a dwarf and a dwarf have a baby, it’s normal height?” “Not true” “Oh”. Incidentally, there was more talk of biology later in the evening, but that involved pig sex in the haunted cellar with Damian. Although, truth be told, we’re not even sure what pig sex is.

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