The Election Section

'You can't kill Bowser. He always comes back. Like Nick Cotton. Or David Cameron.'

Sunday morning at Axis Towers. Following the success of last night's Sausage Sizzle at church (no, really), the burly Welshman and the Axis are firmly tucked into a Nintendo marathon, with a little bit of political indoctrination thrown in to boot. The Axis have displayed a great deal of interest in this election, and a fair bit of confusion about the voting habits of some of those closest to them. Axis Towers is in a true blue constituency, whereas their father resides in a traditionally lefty spot in the inner city. Mindful of our position here, and the fact that we have kind, wonderful neighbours and friends who may well vote on the right, I've not been particularly vocal about my red leanings, something I now somewhat regret.

The past five years have been characterised by a fair bit of financial and political vulnerability for me. When I became a single parent in 2010, I was initially terrified and convinced I was going to end up on the streets. I then became amazed at the safety net that was there for me in the form of the welfare state. I was, and remain, incredibly thankful that we live in a country where, when the chips are down and you cannot support yourself, for whatever reason, the state steps in. But over the past five years, the scope of this has changed remarkably.

It is clear that the system is now designed to put people off wherever possible. Renewal letters now come worded densely with threats, warnings and suspicion. Information is hard to come by and incorrect assumptions make huge delays in payment. Last year, we went 10 weeks with no housing benefit at one point. I'm still paying off the interest on the debt I accrued in order to keep the rent being paid on time - despite the fact I have the most fantastic, understanding landlords ever, I refuse to abuse their good nature and paying the rent on time, in full, is incredibly important to me, as it is to many in my position. What can be more important than keeping a roof over your children's heads?

Last summer, I began to have problems breathing. At first I thought it was a cold, then a chest infection, but as the weeks turned into months, I realised something was afoot. Eventually I was diagnosed with an organising pneumonia, caused by a reaction to an antibiotic I should never have been prescribed, as you don't prescribe it to people with chest history. I'd been given it by an emergency GP on a Saturday, who was rushed and stressed and didn't know me. Over the months, as I became iller, I realised we were in a precarious position. I couldn't keep working, my health wasn't up to the frequent trips to London and the travel around the southwest. Having been considering a move back to university to retrain, I decided now was probably the right time to spend a few months sitting in a lecture hall and resigned, without telling my boss I was ill. He was surprised and upset, understandably. I was afraid, very afraid. A CT scan and some breathing tests revealed I had a quarter of the lung capacity I should have. The picture showed my lungs were full of a substance that looked like candy floss. I could only take shallow breaths by now. It took me 20 minutes to climb the stairs to put the Axis to bed.

By this point, I was fortunate enough to have the burly Welshman to pick up the slack with childcare, as well as my amazing supportive friends and neighbours. I have been having treatment and am getting better. I feel like I've dodged a bullet - for now.

However, what happens to those who don't recover? Those who, like the people I have now started working with, rely on DLA and state benefits? Who suffer horrid, debilitating illnesses, and on top of that have the anxiety that comes with the constant reassessment and poking and prodding of their bodies and lives? Those who are given a demand for bedroom tax days after a loved one dies, those who have to deal with the incompetence of the JobCentre, famously losing paperwork and creating targets for sanctions. What happens to them? (Apologies for the anecdotal evidence. I'm ill again and will look up references for these later, if anyone particularly wishes)

I fear for them, and their carers, and their children. And for mine, who don't understand why sharing doesn't appear to be something adults have to do with good grace. The Axis, however, also don't understand all this talking of fighting. The left want to protect the vulnerable. The right say we need a strong economy to do this and there must be casualties. Must there? Surely, they say it's better to talk and work out an answer between us?

The Axis are right, of course. Is it possible, though? I hope so. The culture of mistrust and suspicion that has begun to creep in our country is pernicious and must go. Now, *that* is something I think we can all agree is worth fighting.

(Next time, no politics, more tales of epic farting from Axis Towers and the sunny Stoke Bishop area, promise) xx