Within a week of posting my first set of musings, unbeknown to me, Ashley Morrison, aka 'youngestoldcatlady', who was and will forever be a shining light within the Animal Rescue community, would take her own life in such an utterly sad and self-controlled way. She scheduled a post on Instagram several days after her passing, which her mum was left to explain. From what I gather, the timing coincided with the anniversary of her much-loved father's passing from suicide eight years earlier.
I didn't know Ashley personally, but I enjoyed her quirky sense of humour, like many of her 248,000 followers on Instagram. After her father's passing, Ashley and her mum, the appropriately named 'youngestoldcatgrandma', threw their energies into saving the lives of countless felines and then went on to find them their ‘forever’ homes. Sadly, this was a task her mum had to carry out for Ashley's three rescued cats, Jack, Breezy and Blossom. I’m pretty sure if it weren’t for the cats in my life (past and present), I would probably have left this earthly plain a long-time ago. A love of animals, particularly cats, and a father who also chose suicide were two characteristics Ashley and myself had in common. The fact that Ashley was only 31 when she passed made it all the more poignant, as my father was the same age.
And here I am, attempting to dissect the whys and wherefores of a detestable group of civil servants, primarily based at the Harrow, Access to Work (AtW) Service Centre, not to mention a few useless idiots based at the Halifax, Access to Work (AtW) Service Centre. Having made several Freedom of Information Requests over the years, trust me when I say they are indeed useless idiots because they seemingly redact or conveniently leave out seminal pieces of communication and then leave in incriminating evidence that I wasn’t previously aware of… so thank you for that at least.
Despite the sad events of Ashley showcasing the dystopian nature of the world we now live in and the ensuing hopelessness it engenders in some, I will carry on telling my story. Still, I won't drag it out, even though these musings are cathartically healing. I will cut to the chase and call the protagonists out one by one. Then I'm going to get on with what's essential in the grand scheme of things, and that's not letting the bastards get you down. I will put my misplaced energies into creating and launching 'Enchanted Animals’, a project I’ve wanted to begin for the past four years, ever since my shining light, Ludo, came into my life. Yet, something or someone always seems to create mayhem and steers my attention away from what's important to me. Between an ex-partner, their vindictive mother and docile housemate, plus the antics of certain fools within AtW, I haven’t been able to focus my attention as I would like… that state of mind has now ended. I can’t tell you how empowering it’s been to express myself through these musings, especially with the addition of 'Jerm’s thought-provoking cartoons' that can’t fail to leave anyone in any doubt about the level of deception that governments around the world are administering towards ‘WE’ the people.
Over the next couple of months, once I have named and shamed the protagonists (of which there are many), I will use my musings to tackle the many assumptions we take as given. Such as, does the establishment have our best interests at heart with their never-ending agendas; the latest example is the ‘emergency alert’. But for now, let's crack on with how my letter to Prime Minister Theresa May on May 5th 2017, led me to become public enemy number one in the eyes of the Department for Works and Pensions (DWP) and those AtW cretins.
Before I get going, I also wrote to Prime Minister Rishi Sunak this past February 14th, and guess what? I got a reply (remarkably) but don't get too excited, as he only sent it back to the same department (DWP Complaints) that consistently neglected its responsibilities for the past six years. They have ignored, dismissed and flagrantly disavowed every one of the ‘7 Principles of Public Life’ they are supposed to abide by. So, to be crystal clear, Rishi, it's too little, too late. I provided 21 pages of evidence which included a timeline of the sustained bullying, harassment and intimidation that I have been on the receiving end of. But I guess you have been too busy playing Cleopatra, judging by this stunt. Never mind what you were thinking; what was the Metropolitan Police Commissioner thinking… it’s beyond me.
For the record, the seven principles are below. Try not to laugh as you read through them and ponder how our Government and its departments flaunt them regularly without fail.
“selflessness; integrity; objectivity; accountability; openness; honesty; leadership”.
Also, let's not forget the 'British Values' (democracy, the rule of law, individual liberty and mutual respect and tolerance for those with different faiths and beliefs) 'that we, as British citizens, should uphold, and the administrators of the people ‘WE’ elect to run the country on our behalf are supposed to hold as their guiding light when carrying out their duties of the office. Oh, wait a minute, who was the last Prime Minister we elected… on that note, here’s a video by 'Richard Vobes' that puts the current situation in Britain into perspective… and no, I’m not bothered.
The Lead DWP Investigating Officer, in their spurious case against me, lied to my face in front of her colleague. It took a direct conversation instigated by my solicitor and an email exchange to address her condescending and pre-judged attitude. She must have been absent the day they taught the seven principles.
An 'ORGANISED CRIME' is most definitely taking place, but it has nothing to do with me; I am yet again being victimised by an all-encompassing aggressor… namely the DW ‘BLOODY’ P!
You might wonder what I said in my letter to Theresa May that stung so severely, and consequently, me being under investigation for 'ORGANISED CRIME' no less. I did the unforgivable; amongst other things, I declared I was a proud Anglo-Indian. That was my first mistake. Had I forgotten 'they', the establishment don't appreciate being reminded of their past colonial misdemeanours? Yes, folks, I did it again; the last time, I demonstrated pride in being born an Anglo-Indian within a quintessential 'English' establishment; I was attacked full-throttle in such a cowardly manner that what is taking place now has little or no effect on me, myself and I. Quite the opposite, the attack I'm currently on the receiving end of, clarifies what I have always known to be the truth; the establishment is rotten to the core. I found this statement by Andrew Bridgen’s wife, 'Nevena', of significant interest… she includes the word racism. Bear that in mind as you read on…
Feast your eyes on "The Games People Play". It’s a screen-print I created during the spring of 2006 as my final degree piece for my BA (Hons) Photography. If you are so inclined, you could replace UCCA (row 1, column L) with any acronym such as DWP, AtW or even GOV.UK. It’s not lost on me that UNIVERSITY (row 2, column B) could be replaced with UNIVERSAL, as in the universal lie we are being told daily by puppet masters that control Governments, Media and the “NARRATIVE”. This piece of art is as relevant today as it was seventeen years ago when I created it.
The establishment never changes; same old heavy-handed, same old bullying and same old red tape; they believe their 'tried and tested’ approach will work on everyone. But I can assure you that the University College for the Creative Arts (UCCA) was left suitably humiliated and chastised for their attempts to bully, harass and intimidate me. Whoever within the DWP made the unwise decision to advance their reign of terror upon me should have done their research. I wasn't put on this planet to take shit from the likes of Anna Fox or the parasite who started this shit-show, Stephen Roe (ex-Harrow AtW Team Leader), the fool who waged war on me… In the space of ten years, I went from the cunning FOX to the fishy ROE.
“The Games People Play”
Anna Fox was the head of the photography department at the UCCA for the last two years of my three-year course. Unfortunately, she had replaced Martin Pover for reasons unbeknown to me. As a result, Martin was demoted to deputy head of the department, which was a blow as I liked Martin as a person, as did many of the other students. I can't imagine Martin instructing a young student to produce a book on how they had 'failed' their final year, yet that's what Anna Fox did. As a mature student, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I asked my classmate if he would do as instructed, and to my surprise, he said yes. He felt that if he didn't, he would've wasted three years of his life; he just wanted to leave with his certificate containing a pass.
I was fortunate that I wasn't at the UCCA for a piece of paper; I had wanted to occupy my mind (a story for another day) and hopefully learn something simultaneously. I did learn an awful lot, but my ‘teachers’ were not the overpaid and somewhat talentless tutors like Anna Fox but the support staff. When the bullying, harassment and intimidation kicked in and groupthink overwrote any form of decency, another student exclaimed, "If she can do this to you, we don't stand a chance”.
Fortunately, as a dyslexic, I had the support of the Learning Support Unit, all of whom expressed great empathy and understanding towards me. I wouldn't have completed my final assessments without them, especially Bex and Bridget. As far as they were concerned, leaving prematurely was not an option. I was so disheartened that I didn’t want to continue with the project; “Scattered Seeds: The Diaspora of the Anglo-Indians” through photography as I felt the UCCA weren’t worthy of being a part of a project that meant so much to me on a personal level. Before completing my final practical assignment, I had written and handed in a 10,000-word dissertation, ‘Kairos’, an Exploration through History, Identity and Photography. I will revisit ‘Kairos’ through a future set of musings and see how I feel seventeen years on, but ultimately, there was a reason why ‘ORIENTALISM’ (row 5, column K) and ‘RACISM’ (row 10, column A) played a part in the art piece.
Jonathan, the head of the Learning Support Unit, asked me if I believed the targeted abuse I was experiencing was racially motivated; when I said yes, he agreed. He then told me a story of a mixed-race Fine Art student whose tutor was racially abusing her. What Jonathan told me was reiterated by my dyslexic tutor Bridget who also supported the Fine Art student; she said the student's spirit had been crushed. I’m pretty sure between the three of them (all English, might I add…), Jonathan, Bridget and Bex; they hatched a plan to keep me focused on getting through the final assessments. Their plan worked as I excelled in a manner in which I could not have dreamt. Talking of dreams, I’ve never been one of those people that remembers their dreams until I woke with the vision of “The Games People Play” in my head. It felt surreal waking up at 7 am one Saturday and feeling like I was being led towards my desk in the next room, picking up a pen, and drawing out what you see above. The editorial request came from Bex, who was helping me with my ‘creative art’ skills. She agreed to help me create a screen print which I hadn’t done before, only if I changed one word, as she was scared (FOX should have been across the goat; SNOB was added to balance the board out) that I might get sued for defamation, which was ironic as my aunty said the same thing after reading my first set of musings, ‘Aries Warrior v The April Fools’. It seems truth doesn’t carry weight anymore in institutional organisations… if it ever did!
As 'Dr Mike Yeadon' repeats in nearly every interview I’ve heard, why hasn’t Patrick Vallance sued him for defamation or slander because Vallance lied to the British public? Vallance won't take action because he knows that during the ‘court discovery’ process, the case will be thrown out, and he will be open to public scrutiny. So, bring it on, DWP… you have seen all the emails between myself and the AtW Complaints Resolution Team over the past seven years. Many of which my local MP at the time, The Lord Goldsmith of Richmond Park (The Right Honourable), was copied into. I can’t wait for Zac to give his written account of the exchange of emails. Now, that should prove an interesting read.
Back to “The Games People Play”, as a dyslexic on all three levels (words, numbers and visually), I wouldn’t have been able to compose the sketch without a word checker, so how did I manage to write it all out, as if, in a trance? So, here’s where I may lose some of you if you aren’t of a spiritual disposition. I believe it now but wasn’t aware of it at the time that I was being guided by my great, great uncle 'Sir Henry Gidney', as I am today, being guided to take on this fight against the establishment. A fight he fought to the end of his life, which was on May 5th 1942. You’re all thinking that 5th May sounds familiar; yep, that was the day I wrote my original letter to Theresa May, and yes, I did mention Sir Henry as my guiding light! Mistake number 2, one might think! Today marks the 81st anniversary of Sir Henry’s passing; if he had lived and seen ‘his community’ through Indian Independence in 1947, the story of the Anglo-Indians might have been a different story to tell rather than being the remanents of a bygone era scattered all around the world most notably the ‘five-eye nations’ of the United Kingdom, United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand.
My mum would call all her children at some point on a Saturday, and my time slot seemed to be set at 10 am, and like clockwork, she called. I told Mum what happened when I woke up and drew out the vision and that I believed I was supposed to create a work of art depicting what I had visualised. I expected her to say, No, don’t do it! But she did quite the opposite; she said, do it! And with those two little words, I launched into ‘The Aries Warrior v The Original Woke Brigade’.
I combined my first photographic project (pre-starting the course in 2003) called “Tunnel Vision”. Based on the three monkeys (Hear no evil, Speak no evil and See no evil), which I’m pretty sure every Anglo-Indian household had a version of to instil fear into their children. My humorous take was that I wanted to learn and not be restricted hence the fourth image being a wink. I might add that using acronyms and words not overlapping are not part of the rules of Scrabble… which is my point ‘they’, whoever is represented as the acronym, don’t play by the ‘rules’ of honest engagement.
With Bridget’s support, I went from scrapping through my essays to gaining a 1st (top 3% of the year). That was a massive achievement for me. This was only achieved because my theory tutor had complete control of the marking, which he made clear to me during one of our one-to-one tutorials. I guess he knew what was coming; yes, you guessed it, I was marked down on my final practical assessment; even though I received a 1st for my dissertation, I only received a 2:2 combined, which was absolute bollocks, if I say so myself! Did I let them get away with it? The hell I did… the university had declared war, and there was only ever going to be one winner. I made them eat humble pie, that’s for sure. But, before the lengthy hearing process, I ensured my disdain for the system was not swept under the carpet. After the marking occurred, the framed artwork was supposed to stay on the wall. I wasn’t having any of it, so I took down my ‘masterpiece’ and left a scrawled message in its place, “DOTTIE DADY WOZ HERE 2003-2006”, and left the building, at which point the ‘powers to be’ made the decision to lock the room. There were two types of people; those who understood my stance and the others who no-doubt turned into the mask-wearing, jab-taking covidiots we have had to deal with for the past three years!
The main reason for actually writing my letter to Theresa May many years later was to highlight my initial experience with the Access to Work scheme, the good, bad and the ugly, and offer a solution to many of the pitfalls that I had observed. At this point, I had no idea that a significant investigation and subsequent damning 'Investigation into Complaints about Access to Work' report had recently (2017) been released by the Parliamentary and Health Service Ombudsman.
“There were a series of flawed decisions that underpinned change in operational approach which had a particularly detrimental impact on some members of two specific groups of people: deaf and self-employed people”.
Considering my clients were/are both D/deaf and self-employed, it’s little wonder why they didn’t want the likes of me championing their cause or fighting their corner. I’ve had to deal with blatant discrimination not only against myself but the majority of my clients, who have their own stories to tell. This ongoing, unjustifiable DWP investigation brings back memories from my student days in Farnham, as yet again, the question has arisen, but this time it's not a she, it's they, ”If they can do this to you, we don't stand a chance”. Now how woke is that?
“The Games People Play” has taken pride of place in my home for the past seventeen years, as it's a constant reminder of the story of David and Goliath. I will take on the DWP in the name of everyone who has suffered and continues to suffer at their hands. I have a deep disdain for most politicians, but look how quickly civil servants cried wolf at the likes of Dominic Raab; they need to get their house in order and be mindful that “people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones”. The person who should be resigning is Peter Schofield, Permanent Secretary at the Department for Work and Pensions since January 2018, as this shit-show (apologies, but there really is no better description) has taken place under his watch. There is a long list of civil servants who have colluded in this personal vendetta against me, and they should all join Schofield on his lonely walk of shame. In the meantime, the ‘new powers’ the DWP have acquired as of May 2022 need to be rescinded as a matter of urgency.
I will leave you with the song, Iron Sky by the legendary 'Paolo Nutini'. If this doesn’t touch your soul, nothing will. It was recorded at Abbey Wood Studios in 2014, the year that changed everything; my mum passed away. I wonder if the recording occurred during one of the many journeys I made driving past the studios to and from the hospice in St.Johns Wood. I took my mum to the hospice believing she had just days left, but she was their guest for thirteen weeks; she was going to leave on her terms which she did. I dearly miss my mum’s dulcet Anglo-Indian tones, accompanied by her words of profound love and wisdom. Her last words to me, as she kissed me goodbye, were, “You be good”, to which I replied, “I’ll try…”. Nine years on, Nutini’s lyrics are more potent than ever… so hold on and fight for your freedom.