Wednesday 26 October 2011
The Ministry Of Housinge
So, the saga with my housing application continues.
I should explain: I am currently homeless, and have been living with m'colleague since the end of December last year when a long-term relationship broke up. I had no duty to be rehoused by the housing association, as my ex-boyfriend had never put me on the tenancy agreement (thanks SO much for that...), and so I went to the oh-so-helpful local council to make a homelessness application. At this point I should say that m'colleague rents a flat that is barely big enough for one, let alone two, so overcrowding is a problem. (Don't get me wrong; I'm not ungrateful. I ooze gratitude from every oozy pore. It's just a fact.)
In order to get any kind of priority help, I need to be assessed ill enough (basically) by a medical assessment officer. My case was assessed numerous times, and each time I got turned down. During this time, my mental state has got worse and worse with the passing of the year, and now I'm at the stage where I'm on god knows what meds, and m'colleague is now also m'carer. FUN! So what happens? My case is dismissed altogether! I now have to open another case, and I have today put steps into place where I can actually see the assessment team who, all the while, have deemed that I am "no less able to fend for" myself than any other homeless person. Yes, well, when I'm having a hypo, or running in front of traffic, or convinced there's someone around the next corner with a knife ready to kill me, I'm sure I can fend for myself just nicely. As Hugh Laurie once said, the things you have to do to prove you're mad.
I'm also on a property bidding system, but I may as well be on a fun bus to Scunthorpe for all the good it does. In nine months and diligent bidding on three properties a fortnight, I've had one viewing, and then the place went to someone else who was higher priority than me anyway. The properties on the system are getting fewer and fewer as the weeks go on, until there's something like 500 people bidding on the same place. Ridiculous doesn't even cover it.
And what about private renting, I hear you all cry? Yes. That would be so easy, wouldn't it? OK, you find me a landlord who's willing to accept Housing Benefit on one of their properties and not try and screw you over. Because everyone who claims Housing Benefit is money-grabbing dole scum who's going to do a runner with the money, aren't they. I'm planning my holiday in Barbados for as soon as I can get my hands on the cash. I think there's something in the Disability Discrimination Act about not refusing disabled people accommodation, but they might as well write "biscuit cruet banana banana windsock Aberdeen" for any notice paid to that. The DDA is fairly toothless at the end of the day, and people are still going to get screwed over as long as there are people willing to discriminate.
I know this is a massive moan, but it's high time I put both my situation and feelings into words. I try and take it in my stride, as I do with most things, but I can't deny that this really gets on top of me at times. Living in such close quarters with m'colleague can put a real strain on our friendship at times (though these times are very rare; she's generally bloody lovely to live with), and the day we can finally get a two-bedroomed flat rather than be camped on a bed and sofa in a converted garage will be most welcome. Shepherds Bush, Hammersmith, Kilburn or Upton Park/Plaistow would be nice, if you're reading, housing fairies.
I should explain: I am currently homeless, and have been living with m'colleague since the end of December last year when a long-term relationship broke up. I had no duty to be rehoused by the housing association, as my ex-boyfriend had never put me on the tenancy agreement (thanks SO much for that...), and so I went to the oh-so-helpful local council to make a homelessness application. At this point I should say that m'colleague rents a flat that is barely big enough for one, let alone two, so overcrowding is a problem. (Don't get me wrong; I'm not ungrateful. I ooze gratitude from every oozy pore. It's just a fact.)
In order to get any kind of priority help, I need to be assessed ill enough (basically) by a medical assessment officer. My case was assessed numerous times, and each time I got turned down. During this time, my mental state has got worse and worse with the passing of the year, and now I'm at the stage where I'm on god knows what meds, and m'colleague is now also m'carer. FUN! So what happens? My case is dismissed altogether! I now have to open another case, and I have today put steps into place where I can actually see the assessment team who, all the while, have deemed that I am "no less able to fend for" myself than any other homeless person. Yes, well, when I'm having a hypo, or running in front of traffic, or convinced there's someone around the next corner with a knife ready to kill me, I'm sure I can fend for myself just nicely. As Hugh Laurie once said, the things you have to do to prove you're mad.
I'm also on a property bidding system, but I may as well be on a fun bus to Scunthorpe for all the good it does. In nine months and diligent bidding on three properties a fortnight, I've had one viewing, and then the place went to someone else who was higher priority than me anyway. The properties on the system are getting fewer and fewer as the weeks go on, until there's something like 500 people bidding on the same place. Ridiculous doesn't even cover it.
And what about private renting, I hear you all cry? Yes. That would be so easy, wouldn't it? OK, you find me a landlord who's willing to accept Housing Benefit on one of their properties and not try and screw you over. Because everyone who claims Housing Benefit is money-grabbing dole scum who's going to do a runner with the money, aren't they. I'm planning my holiday in Barbados for as soon as I can get my hands on the cash. I think there's something in the Disability Discrimination Act about not refusing disabled people accommodation, but they might as well write "biscuit cruet banana banana windsock Aberdeen" for any notice paid to that. The DDA is fairly toothless at the end of the day, and people are still going to get screwed over as long as there are people willing to discriminate.
I know this is a massive moan, but it's high time I put both my situation and feelings into words. I try and take it in my stride, as I do with most things, but I can't deny that this really gets on top of me at times. Living in such close quarters with m'colleague can put a real strain on our friendship at times (though these times are very rare; she's generally bloody lovely to live with), and the day we can finally get a two-bedroomed flat rather than be camped on a bed and sofa in a converted garage will be most welcome. Shepherds Bush, Hammersmith, Kilburn or Upton Park/Plaistow would be nice, if you're reading, housing fairies.
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