Its Friday - its 5 to 5 - and its CRACKERJACK !

Any UK readers born in the 50s will know the feeling ...
no more school until Monday, sat in front of the telly with a plate of toast and a mug of tea.

Daft grown up men doing silly things with soda fountains and kids still in their school uniforms trying to win a Crackerjack pencil by balancing a cabbage on their head ... yes you know what I am talking about.

(EDIT: That link does not want to work. Try googling 'Crackerjack childrens tv' and follow the link to 'whirligig-tv'. If that doesn't work, pretend.)


Its that Friday afternoon feeling, I have done all the week's work* and I still have some relatively pain-free energy left for 'fun' - stuff I want to do, rather than having to save all my energy for 'work'. So I can't resist blogging. Again, courtesy of the facilities of my big bed and six pillows - no Lily, not "...inducing of a double chin...", but essential support - two at my back, one under each arm, one under my knees and one under the laptop.

Comments on my last post Ode to my OT were inspirational, leading me to vent off steam in a long rant about access to a socially inclusive life via wheelchairs, wheelchair accessible vehicles, accessible accommodation and a socially inclusive life to include the right to sit in one's own garden, even have a garden, if that is what one wants, and what one wants to do.

Also, in response to comments, I have been pondering provison in other countries and comparing state funded provision in the UK with USA and Germany, and inviting comments on life in those countries, from other bloggers. Does state provision for accommodation and equipment necessary for disabilities rule whether we have a choice where we live - in the town/city or in the countryside far away from necessary facilities ?

* This week's work has been the mammoth task of completing my Application to Motability for my next leased vehicle and applying via Motability to central government funding for adapatations to make a vehicle wheelchair accessible. The Application envelope weighed a ton (not a tonne), as my application consisted of a hand completed 36 page printed form, my 11 typed pages of additional information, 5 pages of illustrative photocopied photographs, 14 pages of explanation and evidence of disability, specification of wheelchair, proof of income (and bank statements), and proof of expenditure and colour of my nail polish this weekend.

It felt such an important occasion that instead of my home help doing the ironing this morning, when she arrived I dragged her off in my WAV to the market town Post Office to weigh and post the envelope with due ceremony.

I am so glad I did venture out - it is not often I am out and about in public at 10 am - as the twice-monthly farmers' market graced the market place in front of the town hall. As my home help was with me and available to carry stuff for me, I was able to buy: a pot of honey garnered five miles away, beeswax furniture wax from local beehives, autumn bedding plants for the display by the door to my cottage, good proper bread, good proper bacon (from 'Pampered Pigs') and half a dozen Egremont Russet apples.

It was a lovely autumn morning, gentle sun through light cloud, leaves just turning, people sauntering around with time to stop to chat or exchange a smile, the farmers' market very much a social occasion, much like 'marketing' must have been in the old days of the ' Mapp and Lucia' stories by E F Benson.

But without my WAV I would have had to live in this town, with the drug pushers and knife wielders, perhaps next door to the harassers of elderly people (such as my home help's other client), amid the traffic noise and fumes, in this 'Interesting Georgian' country town in Dorset.