When is a door not a door ....?

... when it's ajar!  Sorry!  A weak and feeble joke but my own which introduces some serious blogging commentary.  As you know I'm a great one for the 'what ifs';  people who know me well know that a door is almost anything but a a physical object designed to fit into a space.  A door can lead to a fearsome place; a fantastic place.  It can be the signal of a refuge that barrs all and any from entering your space.  It can provide safety as well as danger acting as a drawbridge closed against your nenamies.  So, on that basis, it follows that other structures or accepted truths are always viewed differently by me.

Take Sharon Shoesmith - no please - just bloody take her will you!  When Ed Balls announced her 'sacking'; or removal or whatever he called it, I just knew she would win the tribunal hearing.  Knowing the little I know about personnelly type stuff I knew that she would win any tribunal hearing.  Mr Balls acted outside of process and should have known better.  It strikes me that 'filling the silence' is a habit shared by ministers as much as those ministered to.  A rather clever, and spiteful director I knew, would question you and leave silences hanging in the air.  It was sometime before I realised that the silence gap was a trap into which I was more than capable of being sucked into.  I would babble or I would try and come up with something really intelligent that he wished to hear and frequently would make myself look a fool.  I soon learned to leave what was hanging in the air to hang.  Eventually the relationship between us levelled out.  So what's this got to do with Sharon Shoemith?  Mr Balls needed to fill the silence;  he needed to offer a scalp to the public rightfully enraged about the treatment of a poor child called Peter.  (I refuse to minimise his humanity by referring to him only by the label 'Baby P').  People tend to be quick to distant themselves from distasteful situations:  not my responsibility;  processes in place, can't legislate ... blah blah blah. 

I have now listened to three interviews of Sharon Shoesmith and I'm not entirely sure what she was trying to get across to me - Mrs Jo Bloggs of Ordinary Street.  I must declare an interest at this point:  my background has fashioned me to be right wing reactionary when it comes to the abuse of the vulnerable, be they children, elderly or animals.  I would happily take on Genghis Khan, Satan and Vlad the Impaler, all at once, in the defence of any of the above.  Could I switch the switch, pull the lever or press the button?  Damn right I could!  What I find difficult to grasp is Ms Shoesmith's lack of humility; her inability to express genuine sorrow and her insistence that she is not to blame.  She did not, it's true, actually physically abuse that wretched mite but she presided over an organisation that was charged, and financed, to protect all the Peters in her borough.  Her organisation failed.  He died.  No-one who came into contact with the 'pathetic' family were streetwise enough to see through the lies and deceptions.  What I want for Sharon Shoesmith is for her to just shut up;  accept what compensation she is entitled to for the breach of process which saw her lose her job and then disappear from view - permanently.  Anything and everything she does and say from this moment on is on the corpse of a little 17 month old boy called Peter.  Poor Peter - he is as abused in death as he was in life.  I suspend rational argument for a moment and say:  Piss off Shoesmith, your arrogance is misplaced and we see your crocodile tears for what they are - for you and only you.

Talking of crocodile tears...  so do you think Saggy Grins has recovered from his failure to gag the whole wide world?  I'm actually not bothered about him and his itchy appendage between his legs - idiot boy - I'm concerned about his mother, his cousin, his nephew, his niece, his children, his wife and the legion of youngsters who idolised him.  I am also astonished that he is still playing first class football at the age of 37!!!  The daft thing is that if he'd let the silly tart who catered to his itchiness spill her sordid little story for the usual fee then the matter would have been dead and buried within two weeks.  As it is it has gone on and on and on and on and and and and  yawn - bor-ring!  I've been wondering how the tabloid reptiles actually cost out how much they will pay for a kiss and tell.  If you have performed a 'sex act' as the red tops modestly put it, out side of a nightclub, with a 'famous' celeb - is that worth £5,000.00?  Or what if you actually, you know, er, go the whole way  more than once, does that come out at say £20,000.00.  Whatever the price paid the kissers and tellers always manage to look kind of smutty, dirty whilst trying to present as an ingenue;  difficult to appear virginal and innocent whilst pouting, pointing your breasts at the camera and hitching your skirt to show off your frilly knickers....

Oh well.....  life goes on.....those with brass necks will continue to thrive and those filled with impotent rage will continue to steam and blog and try to change things.  Truth is all we can do, on a personal level, is hold dear to the values that shape us as civilised and share them with our children and grandchildren.  Sometimes we may get the opportunity to show the wider world but let's not count on it eh?

Hold those close to you closer
Love and peace
THE Purple Fairy xxx