News

Monday
I am in the office doing paperwork. Like mountaineer Chris Bonnington I should be able to reach the first base camp by the end of the day. I have reached this point before only to find that when I come in the next morning I've slipped down the mountain to the very bottom. It is not helped when the Sherpas in administration are expected to be with me on my mountain, and with everyone else in adult services on theirs. I sincerely believe that faith can move mountains, but maybe not this one.

Tuesday
I visit a client and assess that he is living in very poor conditions. My conclusions are based on the piles of dust covering every surface so his flat resembles a snow-capped mountain. A wheelie rubbish bin takes pride of place in the lounge alongside some broken electrical items. Next to this is a fake leather settee, a throwback from the early 1960s. I've known this man for years and never seen him sit down on it. I dread the day when he says "take a seat" to me because it is very unlikely that I will ever be able to get up again. Despite this he assures me that no help from social services is required.

Wednesday
I go back and visit him with the resolve to sort things out. Am I dealing with an environmental health issue or not? At the very least the bin belongs outside and the loo needs to contain clean water. I say: "Don't you know that it is a health hazard not to flush your loo?" Although I feel I say this with a lot of empathy and unconditional positive regard, he does not and tells me to leave. I feel very ineffective.

Thursday
I nip to the supermarket and bump into three service users doing their shopping for the week. They have eight loaves of "plastic" bread and tell me enthusiastically that this is their favourite food. I am reminded that choice is a very difficult concept to grasp and have an internal intellectual battle with myself. The advocacy bit of my brain tells me that they can have eight loaves if it is their choice and they have been advised. The common sense bit asks what would anyone do with eight loaves of the stuff?

Friday
I receive a call to say that I am needed urgently at a service user's home. There is no mention of the nature of the emergency. I drive furiously and try to remember what to do in a crisis. Keep calm. And refer to the health team. I fear that this could be the sort of visit I have recurring nightmares about. I rush up the stairs of the block of flats to the service user's flat. Just as I reach the door I hear the words echo: "What should I do with this empty envelope?" Obviously this person does not know that an unused envelope from the district council is really important. I draw upon all my social work knowledge and experience and offer some wise advice: "Keep it, it may come in handy."