Flower Power?

I'd love to be more like my 'strong female characters'; full of confidence and never afraid to face up to a challenge.  Unfortunately, I'm not really like that at all, especially when it comes to competitions.

Take the next 6x6 Reading Cafe, for instance.  Entries are now invited for the summer event on the theme of 'Blossomings'. Anyone who knows me or follows this blog would be forgiven for thinking that, for someone with my background, this should be the short-story scribbler's equivalent of a well-attended home fixture against already relegated opposition with no travelling support.  When I'm not doing the current day job (or the half of it I'm currently sharing with a colleague, while we wait to see what becomes of a vital funding bid) I'm not just a writer of 'welfare rights lit' and 4mph thrillers - I'm a gardener too!  So a six minute shortie with a hint of the horticultural would be right up my street - or garden path.

But it ain't so. I do have the germ of an idea for a story where plants play a part (and no, it doesn't start with a guy waking up in hospital with bandaged eyes, concerned that a day he knows is Wednesday sounds like a Sunday) but it needs more than six minutes to tell it well, has the potential to be a plot twist in a Daphne Randall mystery and doesn't really fit the 'Blossomings' brief.

Of course, to a truly creative writer, the 'blossoming' concept may have no floral connotations at all.  There are various episodes in the 'welfare rights lit' stories where characters might be said to 'blossom', both in their personal and professional lives.  I could, perhaps, try to rewrite one of Sally Archer's key Social Security tribunals, neither of which currently happens from her perspective nor is a major spoiler for the rest of the Severe Discomfort/Continual Supervision story.  It's an appealing prospect.  I like writing Sally - a much younger, even geekier, slightly taller and funnier version of me who, being a Hampshire lass, speaks like me too.  No more trying to inject a hint of Geordie into the reported speech, the inevitable pitfall last time around of picking a Daphne episode! 

On the other hand, there's something slightly lazy about sticking with tried and tested characters when the opportunity is there to find a new voice or experiment with an unfamiliar genre.  I have until 30th April to get my act together, so there is time yet for inspiration to strike, especially with most of my seed potatoes still to plant.

If I do get an idea, it will have to be an exceptionally good one and will need executing to a very high standard to earn a place.  I was proud to be selected to take part in the spring event and delighted that the slimmed-down version of Pots and Locks was so well-received by an audience which included some extremely accomplished local writers.  It was also a confidence-booster after my unsuccessful efforts for the S-o-T Literary Festival competition, which is coming up soon - might it be third time lucky?  Do I care enough to find out when they put Kirsty Allsop above Professor Mary Beard in the billing?  We'll have to see...

I haven't yet been brave enough to join the Wednesday evening gathering of the Renegade Writers, despite loving the group's name and feeling flattered at the invitation, though I should, both to listen to other writers and, in due course, get encouragement to raise my own game.

Maybe once the taters are all in...

.

Nobody likes a Show-off!

Last week's Special Offer!

Probably for spring-cleaning the warehouse reasons, last week Amazon briefly discounted Grand Union to the point where it would have been cheaper for me to order from them rather than direct from my printers/publishers.  Being a stubborn old lefty, I still didn't and, while I usually direct people to Amazon only for the free Kindle downloads and encourage them to buy paperbacks from real, tax-paying bookshops, I shared the link for this offer as widely as I dared, partly in the hope that a flurry of simultaneous purchases would plunge the notorious tax-dodgers into financial ruin and partly to bolster the Stoke CAB biscuit fund.

Neither happened, not least because I was still rather timid with my marketing, even with the new medium of Twitter to experiment with (#stillnotreallygotaclue).  I know it's silly but I have never been able to shake the feeling that there is something slightly vulgar about plugging your own books.  Of course that's a ridiculous position to take when you're self-published as no-one else is going to do it for you, except a few very good friends - and thanks as ever to all who have shared links and publicly reviewed my endeavours. 

Although I've recently had a couple of opportunities to read extracts of my work - including this one at a local International Women's Day event - I'm still no better at doing a book plug than I was a couple of years ago, when a friend actually shouted "plug your book!" at me as I sat on the panel of a People's Assembly debate on benefit cuts.  I did, a bit, but felt bad about it as I was only there as a late sub for our local CAB Chief Exec.  Similarly, I brought some spare Grand Union copies with me to IWD but was too shy to get them out of the bag and wave them under people's noses.  Despite a major purpose of writing at all being to change people's minds about benefit cuts, it still feels cheap to spot a Twitter trend on the subject and 'hashtag' a link to a blog post or one of the books.  I suspect my childhood as a tall, clumsy girl and a bit of a clever-clogs, simultaneously encouraged to do well but reminded not to be a 'show-off', accounts for at least some of this reticence.

I'm sure I'm not alone.  A local author I'm privileged to know has been asked by his publisher to host an on-line launch party for his latest collection of dark fiction short stories and his latest blog on the subject betrays a hint of reluctance.  Dan writes for a living - it is his proper job, rather than a form of non-violent, biscuit-generating revolution - and he's steadily building himself a sound reputation on both the printed page and the stage.  He promotes his work honestly, modestly and directly, with generous and courteous words for everyone who supports and encourages him and, because of this, I'll happily spread the word about his writing despite the fact that I'm generally too much of a wuss to read many of his stories myself!


By contrast, the way some people market their work makes my skin crawl.  It puts me off even picking their book up for a quick browse while I'm sheltering from the lunchtime rain in Waterstone's or queuing at the till in Sainsbury's, let alone actually buying the damned thing. Taking a recent high-profile example, and setting aside the details of the case, who could fail to be utterly repulsed by ex MP Harvey Proctor's shameless plugging of his released-that-very-day book during interviews on Channel 4 News and Newsnight, concerning the 'Operation Midland' investigations into alleged child sex abuse in the highest echelons of the Establishment?  Even if the guy is completely guiltless and has suffered greatly from having such heinous crimes ascribed to him, in which case he would be deserving of pity and compassion despite being a Tory, the manner in which he attempted to flog the book on air was tawdry in the extreme. 

It happens time and again, though: someone gets onto The Today Programme or similar in their capacity as an alleged authority on a topical issue and, before you know it, there's a shameless, unsolicited plug for their latest book thrown into the debate.  I'd be inclined to forgive a relative unknown snatching at their one chance but the majority are already well-connected enough to have access the broadsheets' literary reviews and magazines, or Radio 4's own book review shows, without displacing a less mercenary 'expert' from the news programme. 

Another regular trick I'm tired of is manufactured controversy.  I was reminded of how this is done when Facebook decided to pitch Maestra by LS Hilton at me a couple of days ago and I remembered seeing this article by the author, which illustrates my point perfectly.  Supposedly grumbling about British reviewers' and readers' prurience about female sexual desire and insisting it's time to be 'grown up' about it when it appears in books, her article was clearly framed to draw attention to the fact that there is explicit sex in her book and drops frequent teasing hints about it.  Serious discussion on modern feminism or poorly disguised clickbait article plugging the book to Fifty Shades fans?  You decide; I wouldn't touch it with a barge-pole!  Which reminds me, I have a narrowboating thriller sequel to write. 

The Domino Effect

Most of my 'welfare rights lit' characters are having a well-earned break while I plot and draft another '4mph thriller' for Daphne.  Readers might otherwise think it too far fetched that the same disabled couple - namely Lyn and Terry Walker, first met in 'Severe Discomfort' - keep getting hassled and reassessed; that no sooner have they sorted out one benefit appeal, than there's some new problem.

Except, of course, that is what it's like.  Take the proposed changes to the PIP assessment announced just before the budget.  You might wonder how changing the score for a couple of descriptors from 2 points to 1 could possibly impact over 600,000 disabled people and cut the PIP budget by a predicted £4 billion.

Here's one scenario:

Barry lives alone and no-one claims Carer's Allowance for looking after him, although his grown-up children take it in turns to take him shopping, do his housework and check on him.  He gets PIP at the standard rate for daily living of about £55 per week.  He scored 8 points because he needs an aid or appliance to safely and reliably prepare a meal, wash or bathe, dress/undress and use the WC. Although his gadgets weren't expensive, his PIP money helps him keep his house warm and pay 'petrol money' to his carers.

Getting PIP for daily living bumps up Barry's other benefit entitlement.  In addition to his ESA (Employment and Support Allowance), paid at the 'support' rate of about £108 per week, he gets an 'enhanced' disability premium of £15 and a 'severe disability premium' of about £62 per week.  Altogether, he's on around £240 per week.

If we reassess Barry under the planned new rules, he gets only 6 points, no PIP and no 'severe disability premium' - a cut of £117 per week, or about half of his income.

And it's not only disabled people who stand to lose.  Carers are also at risk.  Belatedly, the Government have agreed to exempt carers from the 'Benefit Cap'.  So here's Stella, a widow with four children who has been caring for her disabled sister Juno, many of whose supervision needs aren't addressed through PIP.  Because Stella spends over 35 hours a week doing so, she gets Carers Allowance and Income Support - worth about £106 per week, Child Tax Credit for the children and full Housing Benefit.

In the autumn, the Benefit Cap falls to £385 per family outside London and, if it wasn't for her carers' exemption, Stella's Housing Benefit would be cut to only £20 per week.  Stella isn't Juno 'carer' for DWP purposes if Juno doesn't get PIP, but Juno too could see her points dip below 8.  Depending on the age of her children, Stella might have to claim Jobseekers Allowance instead of IS and be full available for work, despite her caring responsibilities.  JSA is £73 per week - a cut of about £30 per week - but Stella's family would also be affected by the 'Benefit Cap' if she ceased to be a 'carer'; depending on the level of her rent, this could cost them well in excess of £100 per week.

As for our Lyn Walker, she has a dilemma.  If, like many people, she's still on DLA and waiting to be 'invited' to claim PIP, her current care needs should get her 8 'daily living' points, maybe more.  However, she would score two less if the current proposals went through.  Should she report a change of circumstances for an early assessment under the 'old' rules, or hold her fire?  If we look at all the implications of that, not only will there be spoilers for anyone not familiar with the 'Social Insecurity' series so far, I could be giving away the plot of the next 'welfare rights lit' book, though I'm already not short of material for other scenarios if Gideon and IDS are thinking of backing down. 

Severe Discomfort, the first book in the series, is usually free to download on the first and fifth Friday of every month - plus tomorrow (19th March 2016) - find the link here.  If you've already read and enjoyed it, or have helpful, constructive criticism, please leave a review!

The 'March for the Alternative' alternative story.

This is the other possible for tomorrow's International Women's Day event, staring a couple of the 'bit part' characters.  It's an edit and slight rework of the first part of this short story…

Jenny Morris woke up when the coach came to a halt.  She had been out seriously late last night.

‘You so don’t want to bother with that stupid Union thing tomorrow!’ Sita Rai had grumbled, as they had staggered back to her flat after Jen’s hen night. 

But Jenny did want to bother, at least for a little while. 

After that, they could go off and buy shoes.

She had joined the union a year ago, shortly before Andy Burrows, a skinny bloke about 7 feet tall, had taken over as Branch Secretary.  He didn’t dawdle about reading through wads of ‘Minutes’ at the start, or get hung up about whether something was a resolution for voting on or just a comment for discussion.  That stuff did Jenny’s head in.  Instead, Andy organised speakers, including a man from the Solent Welfare Rights Project who had talked about how benefit cuts hit vulnerable people, which had made Jen think hard about the work she did.

Andy came through the coach, handing out information sheets about the route of the march, where the coach would pick them up, what time they had to be back to it, and what to do if they got arrested.

The last part had freaked Sita out completely, until Jen reminded her that they were actually going shopping in Oxford Street. 

Jen watched as lanky Andy made his way to the front of the coach.  He took up the microphone. 

‘We’ll all stick together,’ he said.  ‘But if you take a flag each it’ll be easier for me and the other stewards to spot you all.’ 

Jen almost expected him to organise them into pairs and make them hold hands.  As she got off of the coach, Andy passed her a bright yellow flag with the Union’s logo in the middle. 

Sita didn’t take one.  

‘It’ll get in the way going round the shops,’ she said to Jen, once they were out of Andy’s hearing.  ‘And you’ll have to bin yours before we get to Selfridges or they’ll think we’re going to break their windows or whatever.’ 

At the Tube station, the lady waved them through the barrier without any tickets.  When the train ran in, it was already packed with people bearing banners and flags. 

The ticket guy waved them all through at the other end. 

‘Excellent!’ said Sita.  ‘We can use the money for a latte and a blueberry muffin in Starbucks!’

Jen wasn’t really listening because, now they were right out of the station and onto Waterloo Bridge, she could see the huge crowds gathering along the Embankment.  Their group were following a mass of people with blue flags and among those was a massive inflatable bubble with something inside that looked like a big grey fish. 

‘Oh.  My.  God!’ said Sita.

‘That’s us!’ shouted Andy, pointing across the river to a sea of yellow PCS flags and a big yellow balloon.  Jen wasn’t the only one struggling to keep up with his long strides although, once they got among the other demonstrators, Andy had to slow right down.

Jenny looked at the people around them.  She had expected most of them to be students and young activists but there were loads of people as old as her mum, or even older.  Some had lollipop-shaped placards with a row of little stick people and the words ‘Coalition of Resistance’ on them; others had anti-cuts slogans and ‘Socialist Worker’ or ‘Socialist Party’ on, but most people carried Union flags or banners and they were from all sorts of different professions.  The blue flag people turned out to be teachers and the thing Jen had mistaken for a fish was a gigantic inflatable pair of scissors representing education cuts. 

‘Oh my God, Jen!’ Sita suddenly grasped her arm.  ‘Don’t look at them, not so it’s obvious, but there are some of those anarchists over there!  We should go now, before it all kicks off!’

Jenny stole a cautious glance in the direction Sita had indicated. 

‘You are well stupid,’ she said.  ‘Just coz they’re wearing black!  They’re junior doctors dressed as undertakers because the A&E at their hospital is going to be closed.’

‘That’s well bad.’  For a moment, Sita actually sounded as if she cared. ‘But there are still loads of people here, Jen.  Andy won’t notice if we go shopping.’

‘Not yet,’ Jenny said.  She had never been on a demonstration before and thought it might be cool to walk a little bit of the way with the others, at least as far as Big Ben.  She just wished people would stop waving all these bits of paper at her with political stuff on. 

‘Aren’t some of these old banners nice?’ she said to Sita.  ‘There’s one with a lovely painting of a cruise liner on it.  My granddad used to go to sea.’ 

‘What’s that one with the flames on?’ Sita asked, as they came round past the Houses of Parliament.

Jenny couldn’t see which one she meant, for all the people packed around her.

‘It’s the Fire Brigades Union,’ explained Andy, who had come back through his group to hand out little cartons of fruit juice, as if they were on a school trip.

‘No way!’ Sita gasped.  ‘God, Jen!  You didn’t tell me there would be firemen on this march!  I might be staying now!’ 

Strong Female Characters

I have a six-minute slot for a 'lightning talk' at this weekend's International Women's Day Festival in Hanley, and am torn between a shortened extract from an earlier tale and this snippet, in which we eavesdrop on some of my favourite imaginary friends discussing 'strong female characters'. Between novels, I tend to let my characters adjourn to an imaginary pub but it’s rather early in the day for that, so you might like to picture them in a café setting instead...

  ‘It’s really rather inspirational to be surrounded by so many strong female characters,’ declared Hilary Carrington proudly, surveying the unlikely sisterhood gathering around her. ‘We’ve known each other for almost four and a half years – counting from when our author started writing us.'
  'In real time it's well over forty,' said Lyn Walker, propping her crutches against a spare chair and easing herself slowly into her seat. 
  'Is it as long as that?' Hilary's tone suggested she wished to believe not. 
  'Oh yes, luvvie,' Lyn confirmed cheerfully. 'Me and Terry were going steady during that really hot summer and you and I started at the same school long before that!'
  'And it's over thirty years since we left University,' Daphne Randall reminded her, with a shocking lack of sisterly solidarity, pulling off her knitted hat to reveal a neat bob of purple hair. ‘But we're hardly your typical strong female characters, are we?'
  'Not in the killing aliens with flame-throwers sense,' noted Sally Archer, shooting a long arm right across the table for the teapot and knocking over the dainty vase of daffodils. Lyn stood it back up and mopped the table with a paper tissue, as she might after one of her grandchildren.
  'I fancy you'd be the one to do that, if you didn't set the whole spaceship ablaze in the process!' laughed Daphne. 'But what I'm on about is how strong female character usually just means one who starts the story hating some bloke's guts and spends the rest of it falling in love with him!’ 
  ‘Whereas you would never do anything like that!' Hilary raised her elegantly arched eyebrows.
  Daphne shrugged. 'At least little our little chats always pass the Bechdel Test.'
  'What's that?' asked Sally. 'Is it like a Turing Test for characters, to see if readers see us as real people?'
  'It's a feminist way to assess films,' Hilary explained. 'To pass, there must be a scene where two named female characters have a conversation with each other about something other than a man. Alien is often cited as an example, as Ripley and the other woman...
  'Lambert...' said Sally. 'She was the navigator.'
  'Indeed,' replied Hilary, who hadn't actually dared watch it since cowering with her college friends in a long-demolished cinema. 'And they talk to each other about the alien.'
  'The alien's a male, though. Like a drone insect. There are queen aliens in the later films, and...'
  'It still counts,' Daphne interrupted. 'He’s a monster, not a fella. And the Bechdel test remains relevant. Think about all the female characters who still don't get lines and don't get names, they just get...'
  'I know,' said Sally. 'Whereas with you and Hilary, if there is any sex, it's because you started it!'
  'You can talk, pet!' 
  'Absolutely!' Hilary agreed. 'Which reminds me, what happened on Monday?'
  Sally grinned and turned pink. 'He said "yes!"'
  'Oh how lovely!' Hilary threw her arms around Sally's broad shoulders.
  'Bechdel Test failure alert!' sighed Daphne.
  'I'm still not clear how it works,' said Sally. 'You and Hilary are always talking about men. George Osborne, Iain Duncan Smith, Tony Blair..., though I suppose Daphne's get-out about the alien covers that.'
  'How's that then, luvvie?' asked Lyn.
  'It's irrelevant that they're male – it’s their risk to humanity that matters, which makes Margaret Thatcher the alien queen!'
  'Mind your language, pet!'
  'I've never really bothered with feminist politics,' Sally said. 'Men act differently towards you when you're one-point-eight-five metres tall. They don't open doors for you - they teach you to hang doors. They don't throw their cloaks over puddles for you - they get you to fetch a bag of gravel to fill in the hole. Dad and the lads have always treated me like one of them - they call me an honorary bloke!'
  'That's all very well,' said Hilary. 'But what would the lads say if you called one of them an honorary lass?'
  'It would depend who I said it to but the second word would be "off"!'
  'Exactly!' said Daphne. ‘They see your strength as a male trait, but wouldn’t accept any of their strengths as female ones.’
  Sally looked a little crestfallen.
  'I'm sure Sally is literally the strongest of all us!' said Lyn, in an effort to cheer her up.
  'I might not be.  Daphne's worked her boat through hundreds of locks so she might beat me at arm-wrestling!'
  'Let's see about that, shall we?'
  After a closely-fought challenge, Lyn mopped the table again and straightened the stems of the bruised daffodil blooms as she stood them back in their little vase.
  'It's not about physical strength, really,' a victorious Sally said magnanimously. 'Hilary couldn't arm-wrestle either of us but she's been fighting for her clients for almost twenty-eight years.  I think she's brilliant - for her age!'
  'Thank you, Sally.'
  'We haven't had to balance our careers with raising kiddies, mind,' said Daphne. ‘Unlike Tricia, who's a mum and carer as well as an adviser, or Lyn's daughter-in-law Paula, mixing parenthood and politics. They've had to be both strong and organised!'
  'Talking about being organised,' Lyn said hastily. 'I've really got to go now. I've got a tribunal now and my taxi's waiting!'
  'Is Hilary representing you again, Lyn or one of the others from the Project?' asked Sally.
  'Neither of them, luvvie.  I'm not the one appealing, this time.  I'm representing a young lady with a PIP appeal.'
  The others watched as Lyn hoisted herself out of her seat, accepting Hilary's help with her crutches before picking her way between tables and chairs and out of the door.
  'She wins!' said Sally. 

Severe Discomfort, staring Hilary, Lyn and Sally, is free to download every first and fifth Friday of the month.

Grand Union, staring Daphne Randall, is free at random times, including today (5th March 2016) and International Women's Day on 8th March 2016.

Paperbacks can be ethically sourced from CompletelyNovel

Telling Stories

#OweninResidence at Staffs Uni

If you can't help chuckling at the meme that juxtaposes a photo of Jeremy Corbyn and Owen Jones with one of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker, yet still find it genuinely comforting that these two are on the side of the Rebel Alliance, you would have enjoyed last week's lecture on 'The Politics of Hope' (or was that 'A New Hope'?) at Staffordshire University, delivered by Owen Jones with his customary optimistic, self-deprecating eloquence.

One point he made that struck a particular chord was how we on 'the left' tend to fight our corner with facts, figures and statistics, while the Daily Mail et al make their case by telling stories - generally of the teenage single mum with eight kids gets £10,000 a week in benefits or illegal immigrant housed in £20 million castle variety.  I made those up, just to be clear about that.  You'll see why that's important later.

Owen's point about stories was that we should, in the best possible way, be less like the QI Elves and more like the Daily Mail, and tell more stories of our own.  He cited the example of the man sanctioned for not being 'available for work' because he was selling poppies for the British Legion, which arguably did much more to make the case against JSA sanctions than any set of stats.  There are plenty of others, about people sanctioned for attending job interviews which clashed with Jobcentre appointments or for having the temerity to be in hospital after a heart attack or RTA when they should have been on a Work Programme course. A DWP officer once insisted to me that 'we don't sanction people, they sanction themselves by their own behaviour.'  No quantity of stats can refute that claim.  A single good case study shoots it down in flames.

Stories are also damned difficult to counter without seeming to call your opponent, or their unimpeachable source, a liar.  Many years ago, a client at a project I worked for in Hampshire insisted that New Age Travellers got extra benefits for their dogs.  Not true, I laughed.  Is true, she insisted - her friend told her so, and her friend's daughter worked for Social Services. Similarly, a family friend recounted one day how a friend's son or daughter worked in a mobile phone shop and had to give out top-of-the-range mobiles to asylum-seekers after they refused to take basic models.  I knew full well that this was an urban myth straight out of the BNP book of bedtime stories, but there was no persuading our man - after all, why would his mate at the pub make something like this up?  More recently, I had a skirmish at a country park tea stall with a lady sat at the next table, who was telling her friends that smokers on benefits got extra money for their fags.  I politely introduced myself as a CAB benefits specialist and assured her this was not so, only to be told that her friend had seen it on her son's benefit letter.

In each case, although I had the facts at my fingertips, and my professional role to lend them credibility, it was difficult to deploy them without seeming rude.  I found myself making excuses for the 'friend' - they must have misunderstood what they had seen or heard - to allow the story teller to save face and not appear a gullible fool.  A 'counter-story' might be easier to deliver and at least as effective a tactic.  Instead of 'Excuse me, but that's wrong because...', an approach based on 'Really?  I'm surprised to hear that, because I know someone who...' might get a more sympathetic hearing and make the point just as well, only there is client confidentiality to consider, of course, and stripping out personal details can leave your own story sounding unconvincing.

On the subject of unconvincing details, I was stunned to see that almost 90% of tip-offs to the Benefit Fraud Hotline have proved baseless.  I would have guessed quite a high BS factor, but for more than 8 in 10 to be without justification is staggering.  Of course, this risks ending up as just another statistic bandied about by us leftie benefits geeks if we aren't careful.  What people need to make this sink in is a real-life version of Severe Discomfort.  Unless a real 'Lyn' or 'Terry' is brave enough to come forward to tell their story of what it's like to be an innocent person on the wrong end of a DWP investigation, to the neutral, it's all just numbers.

Hand-Up or Hand-Out?

The Antidote to Channel 5?

Channel 5, if we are to believe their version of events, are engaging in a 'bold social experiment', which we will be able to view next Tuesday evening.  Naturally, this being Channel 5, those being experimented upon are families in receipt of Social Security benefits - hence the edifying title 'The Great British Benefits Handout.'

I should be grateful, in a round-about sort of way, as it gives me an excuse to plug my stories about the benefit claimants the TV companies don't want to show you, who don't fit the stereotypes and don't draw the rantings and ratings.  Instead, it fills me with dread.  After perhaps a small amount of progress, with the Chancellor's defeat over Tax Credit cuts and broadly sympathetic coverage of the people who have lost their personal independence via PIP's impact on Motability, the debate about benefits looks set to become poisonous again.


Channel 5's PR department are already playing an ugly double game on this programme.  The Independent, obviously drawing from a press-release from C5, plays up the positives - the amount of specialist support the families had to manage their money, the programme-makers' alleged desire to see them succeed - although it can't resist adopting the usual language around 'escaping' from benefit dependency. 


The Mirror ran with an altogether more typical tabloid take on the story - of feckless poor people being reckless - and went on to fuel the controversy and boost the advance publicity with the equally typical families hit back at.... story yesterday.  It's media manipulation at its most cynical from all concerned - two versions of what the programme shows, carefully targeted to get both broadsheet and tabloid-reading audiences tuning in and fuelling the Twitterstorm even before the programme airs.


At risk of doing the Daily Maily thing of rushing to condemn before the programme has even aired, I am already deeply suspicious of what is going on here.  For a start, if this was a serious social experiment, why would the families receive their money in a suitcase full of banknotes, rather than by direct debit into a bank or Post Office account?  Benefits no longer arrive as giro cheques to cash at the Post Office anymore, they have been paid into claimants' accounts for years (making me suspicious of the authenticity of references to 'giros' these days).  It's clearly for the cameras, particularly that most exploitative image, which shames the Daily Mirror article, of the little boy with his arms overflowing with wads of notes.


And why £26,000?  That wouldn't be to reinforce the myth that that's what every family on benefits gets, would it?  Ever since that became the 'Benefit Cap', the idea has pervaded popular culture that all claimants get this much in 'handouts'.  Trust Channel 5 to be the ones to let us all see what it looks like in lovely, fluttery notes - just in case all you hard-working viewers weren't feeling jealous enough already!

If I honestly thought this might come close to being a serious examination of the possible impact of a 'citizens' income', I would put up with the usual sarcastic voice-over and mocking music.  But, to be such a thing, it wouldn't only give suitcases of money to benefit claimants.  It would see what a low-waged, long working-hours family chose to do - whether they would live it up or use the funds to adjust their 'work-life balance' in favour of life.  It would give a stash of dosh to a few struggling artists, to see if it helped them through the creation of their masterpiece or allow them to finish that crucial first novel.  The 'social experiment' could take the money worries away from a carer or two, or from someone close to retirement struggling with a physically demanding job.  When you pick only benefit claimants - and, it seems, those with good entertainment value from what has been leaked of their business plans - you aren't experimenting, you're exploiting.

I wish more people would question the vicious class bias that runs through all of these 'reality TV shows'.  There was a trailer on Channel 4 yesterday for Britain's Weirdest Council Houses.  Am I alone in wondering why, when Social Housing tenants pimp their homes, what we see is 'weird', while private owners have Amazing Spaces - and the super-rich have Grand Designs?