ONE YEAR LATER   It is now one year since my son moved out so it's a good time to reflect. While I can't really speak for him I'm sure it's been a real year of change – into adulthood and responsibility. The physical distance between us (it takes a bit of planning to meet up) means any dependence on me that he did have would never have lasted long. So he's been very much on his own. On the housing front it's been a rollercoaster – being kicked out of his first place without a word to his face, spending the winter in his mum's shed, before finding a room in a shared flat (which seems to be working out). On the work front he's lasted a whole year. I'm proud of his commitment – it's hard, physical labour on the minimum wage, 8 till 5. He wants more variety in his work. I hope this happens and he sticks it out. On the social front he's really embraced Bristol, maybe too much! He goes out a lot, has plenty of mates and is seeing a nice girl. While on the music front his band are set to return after a few months off to play the Academy. His other music projects continue. He's not expecting to make a living from his music any time soon but with his talent and enthusiasm I wouldn't rule it out.   So while my son has quickly and happily adapted to his new life I turn to myself. This last year feels like it's been a series of tests and challenges. A few weeks after my son moved out I was emotionally blackmailed into taking in a lodger. Easy it wasn't. Once he'd left there was the issue of my son's eviction and the subsequent family fall out. I've had a few near miss/if only relationships that could've been different. There's been a milestone birthday! The biggest challenge is the unfolding closing of my worksite and wondering about its many personal implications as well as the feeling of deep, deep sadness that such a fantastic place will be lost forever. Plus the facing of the reality of living under a Tory government and the terrible memories brought back of the last one. And even earlier today my uncle taking great pleasure in telling me my beard makes me look 50. Perhaps this beard symbolises a letting go, a drift down life's unpredictable currents. Above it all I survive and remain positive. Do I miss my son? Of course. I often think of what he'd be doing if he was at home. It really feels good when we do meet up (average of once a week) and we speak about once a week too. I feel that he is living life with the freedom he should, no doubt learning a few lessons on the way. What more can you ask for?

ELECTION THOUGHTS, LAWRENCE WESTON COLLEGE CLOSURE AND CUTS TO COME!   This blog is a metaphorical call to arms! With election fever upon us we have to try and look beyond the hype, false promises and lies. How will the election affect single parents? This is not an attempt to say one party is better than another. Broadly speaking I wouldn't argue with the basic division of the 'progressive' parties of Labour, Liberal Democrats, Green, Respect, Sinn Fein, SNP and Plaid Cymru being sympathetic and supportive of single parents while the likes of the Conservatives, UKIP and BNP will tend to pass judgement and even victimise. The main issue is that whoever gains power will be faced with a capitalist/economic crisis and seriously cut public spending. Details have mainly been hidden. A more progressive government should mostly safeguard those on low income or benefits. Who knows how bad things will get?   I have experienced the brutality of cuts first hand in the last couple of months. My main workplace is the Lawrence Weston site of the City of Bristol College. It's a truly amazing place. Students with learning and physical disabilities mix with a range of other users to create something special. A lot of single parents do literacy, numeracy, IT and ready for work courses there. But when something that is so vital and so human comes up against short-term profit-driven economics guess what wins? Pretty much every time. So cuts are made in education and this is passed onto the college. The management in their brand new shiny buildings have a meeting with their prawn sandwiches and cappuccinos and decide where to wield the axe. They think old building? Disabled students? Single parents? A neglected area like Lawrence Weston on the edge of Bristol? Easy! Next! So a huge impact is made on many lives.   What can be done when the promised cuts arrive? This will need to be a season of action. The British, unlike the French, Irish or Greeks, tend to be polite and half-hearted in their opposition. Traditional methods of action such as petitions, demonstrations, letter writing, protests, lobbying plus all the new internet stuff will be called upon. Single parents need to protect their gains in recent years. This is when an organisation like SPAN is so important – both able to advice and reassure on the one hand while trying to influence the hands on the levers of power on the other. To quote Bobby Sands:    'Everyone has their own particular part to play. No part is too great or too small. No one is too old or too young to do something.'   Finally on the subject of Lawrence Weston college there's an epetition for the public to sign at www.tinyurl.com/lwpetition. Thanks.

WINTER INTO SPRING   First of all this is a renewal of my vows to this blog and to this website. I will even read other peoples' blogs (I won't have to pretend any more). As I've often been told - you don't stop being a parent. Since the last blog – and the dramatic breaking news of my son being thrown onto the mean streets of Bristol to fend for himself (I'm going to be good and not make any references to backstabbing in this blog) – all sorts of parenting related issues have returned. I've not found it easy so I don't know how my son has coped. The good news is that he's safe and well, with a (shed) roof over his head and managing to keep his job. His spirits are up; maybe a part of him is enjoying the adventure.   As a parent all your protective instincts flood back. The straightforward narrative of leave home/get job/hook up with others in a flat/have a good time etc is broken. The point is that as a parent there's no longer a lot you can do. There's plenty of middle class kids who are pampered (part of the problem in the ex-flat) but my son ain't one of them. There's no wad of money heading his way. Your parenting job now consists of giving advice, suggestions and guidance; being there on the phone or to meet up for coffee and a sandwich; and scraping together something for bus fare or dentist check up. How you see the situation won't necessarily be how your kid sees it. For example I talked to a work colleague about renting out a room thinking it was a solution but my son wasn't so sure and has his own ideas of what he wants, which is no bad thing.   In all of this (and echoing a previous blog) I am very grateful to my son's Mum. Despite having a big family and small house there was never any doubt my son could stay there as long as needed. She's helped him out with some flat searching and some ferrying about. He is sleeping in a shed (with heater) but is thankful he can stay in Bristol and keep his job. To return here to Portishead would mean the loss of his social network and the near impossibility of very early mornings and over 2 hours of bus travel a day. He paid a visit yesterday evening, appearing at 7.15, had plenty of grub, settled down for the football but by 8.30 he was asleep. He stayed over but was up at 5.45. Try doing that 5 days in a row!   So my son has come up against the housing issue – how difficult and expensive it is to find somewhere. The pitiful supply of social housing makes it impossible for young people to access it. Ironically it was my status as a single parent (and a period of homelessness) which meant I got very lucky. So he's facing the hit and miss and over-priced private sector. Having said that my son was paying a fair bit in the flat so it won't be too much more. At this point I'm going to put in my email address (which might get me in trouble) so anyone reading this (either of you) can let me know of any rooms out there or lodgers being sought. It's basticarter@btinternet.com.   My son's journey through the world of music continues its rollercoaster ride. Hunting Bears have already played 2 barnstorming gigs this year but due to exam commitments the singer has put things on hold until the summer. Then university will rear its ugly head and Hunting Bears could enter the realm of legends and what-might-have-been. Then, almost out of nowhere, the electronic duo Avenue (remember the name), featuring my son on electronics, produce an EP, complete with serious packaging, to hawk around various music people. (At this point I'd like to say I could get a copy out to anyone interested – see email address above). It's great stuff!   Finally for the first time properly, after the interval with a lodger, I have the home to myself. On the whole it feels good. Everything inside the flat is where I want it. I can do anything when I want to. After a tough January (partly weather, partly son anxiety) I look forward to the year ahead. I wonder if I've become a semi-recluse (I need persuasion to go for a drink) and whether that's good or bad. Do I want to get into a serious relationship? Bizarrely my love of gardening seems to have started returning. I've got stuck into my Nan's run down and neglected garden and loved every scratch and sting. So I've big plans. There's something deep and profound going on I hope. It's snowing outside so I'm off for a walk.

Explanations, What It Means To Be A Single Parent And Some Breaking News   Just when I felt this blog was dying on it's feet like a punch-drunk boxer who has taken one KO too many from somewhere has come a mysterious life force. I did think that there was no more to say and I was outstaying my welcome. However I was lucky enough to babysit for two young nieces over Xmas and it was like a trip back into my past. Firstly though I've been 'told off' (again) for using the odd so-called inappropriate/'offensive' word (even when asterisked) so I have to imagine this blog is being read by a child from Victorian times. It's not so good for free expression but never mind. Also I never meant my previous blog to be a feeling-sorry-for-myself-I'm-so-poor riff but it's been a revelation that coming off benefits/tax credits you instantly become quite a bit poorer. I'm in a job that's just classified 'full time' (i.e. 30 hours a week) so I know I could try and get an evening job and might have to. I wouldn't want anyone's sympathy – just hope I'm telling it like it is!   My close family live the other side of the country these days and I try and visit for a few days maybe 3 times a year. I look forward to it even more as I now have 2 nieces (plus step-niece) – they are aged 10 months, 23 months and 4 years. I found myself volunteering to babysit the youngest and eldest so my brother and his girlfriend could have a break and go with my Dad to pick up my sister from a train station. It had nothing to do with an opportunity to watch the great Barcelona on their TV. Due to connection problems they would run late so I would have 3 ½ hours with the kids. In one of my jobs I can be surrounded by teenagers (which is great); in the other it's primary school kids. But to be with a baby and a pre-schooler was something I'd not experienced for years.   Straight into the deep end as it was teatime. They had a dodgy looking shepherd's pie. The older one wanted to watch TV next door (Barca weren't on for a couple of hours) – I didn't have a problem with that. I manoeuvred the baby into her high chair (you forget how little things like this take skill and patience) and then, in no rush, fed her small mouthfuls of the mush. She ate lots of it, which made me feel good. There was a yoghurt nearby for afters that she'd spotted while on the main course but I'd quickly hidden it. I realised it's little tactics and tricks like this which make quite a difference. After we put some music on (nothing too crap) and got loads of toys on the floor. All this time you adopt a kind of half-language that infects your mannerisms and movements – all in the name of communication. The baby had a bottle of juice nearby at all times that she could drink when she wanted it. Also there was a dummy. This had a use. The baby wanted to put everything into her mouth. My uncertainty was what was safe? So instead of a small building block I'd substitute her dummy. We carried on like this leaving a trail of toys over the floors like the scene of an ancient massacre. I also found that lots of talking to the older girl (even in another half-language) meant she was happy with everything going on. She was fine about the switchover to the football after a Spongepants Bob episode although this would then be the source of the only moment of tension. The baby had fallen asleep in my arms (enough to bring a tear to your glass eye) and I was engrossed in the footy. All of a sudden the girl switched the telly off at the mains. She wanted my attention so she could go to bed! So I had to lay the baby down and explain to her to tell me (and to wait until half-time) while at the same time try and get the footy back on (not an easy task). Not long after the posse arrived and I had mixed feelings.   So what did I learn about all this? It was satisfying and fun to babysit for a few hours – you need to be a bit resourceful, you got to problem solve, you can be a bit stupid, you get the buzz when everyone's happy. But I realised for any length of time it would start to become a bit draining, some 'drama' or 'crisis' would happen, you'd want to do something for yourself. This is what it means to be a single parent. Often liberating and joyful, but equally knackering and frustrating. But I'll be volunteering next time.   Finally some breaking news. My son seems to be given the old heave-ho from the shared flat after a New Years Eve party too many. In order to not cause offence I can't say what I'd like to. I hope it'll be a blessing in disguise. The search for a new place will start, too early to panic. He knows that to move back here will probably mean the end of his job (too far away). His Mum can provide emergency accommodation. At least it gives me my next blog!

SCRAPINGS FROM THE BARREL   It's been a while since I've done this. After my last one it felt like everything I wanted to say about being a single parent I'd said. Feedback pretty good. I quite like writing – I managed to get a letter into the 2 local free papers advocating Portishead Socialism Or Death! The excuse was more exciting developments with the traffic lights in Portishead. One paper even published a picture of Karl Marx, which impressed me. Then some clever dick wrote in saying Socialism Was Bad.   So what I'm saying is I've found it hard to find something to say about single parenthood without repeating myself with diminishing returns like an old rock band living on past glories (this blog entry being the equivalent of a B-Sides compilation). An update on my son has to say that with a slight wobble or 2 everything is going great. He's set for a small promotion at work; his band are having a bit of a breather after some successful gigging (including a live on the internet gig from London); never mind that, he's got another band on the go as well; after a few hard lessons he thinks he's got his finances under control; again after a few knocks he's happy that he's managing in his shared flat. We see each other about once a week, either if I'm in Bristol we meet for a coffee after work or he'll come home to Portishead for some of the weekend and eat lots of food I'm happy to give him. We speak on the phone too. We get on great. So I suppose I'm proud and relieved.   For me things never changed much at home as I've helped a homeless mate out and allowed him to stay when he wants, almost a straight swap for my son. He's not around all that much. No money changes hands because it's illegal. However I've had to show my ruthless streak and say it's got to end before Christmas, which I like to celebrate in my own way by pretending it's not happening. The big shock to the son-now-an-adult system has been how much poorer I am. This is probably a message that isn't officially welcome but for the first time I feel I have to justify every penny I spend just to break even. When I next need a new washing machine or cooker (both dodgy) I'll be up the creek without a paddle! Still you deal with these challenges.   So I'm going to leave this sorry excuse of a blog here that's proof I'm still alive and kicking. I really hope some inspiration can strike me soon, any suggestions appreciated.

EDUCATION, EDUCATION, EDUCATION!   Well the novelty of writing a blog has passed but I will keep going. To keep it fresh for myself I will write it in one session directly on the computer, complete with spelling mistakes, swearing and lots of things to cause offence.   Before I get underway a bit of an update on my son's band Hunting Bears. Their last gig before their get together with legendary Nick Mason of legendary Pink Floyd is now at the Croft in Bristol on Tues 18th August. Please come along whoever you are.   As a committed socialist one of the things that makes me so mad is the accepted inequality in education. It's one of those crystal clear issues that should be beyond any kind of debate. We're so quick as a country to claim all kinds of moral high ground. Our record in exporting terror through war and contribution to environmental damage should make us a pariah state. Closer to home though things are no better. Despite technological 'progress' and a greater understanding of things (is this true?) our society is shockingly unequal. This is something that never sinks in. The contrast in the wealth, power, consumption and, of course, quality of life between the top and the bottom is beyond comprehension. In fact the contrast between the middle and the bottom is something to behold too.   But of course this system perpetuates itself as only those who benefit can change things (peacefully, anyway). So from the day you are born your life is pretty much mapped out. And education plays a key role. The wealthy will send their kids to private and public schools (unless their local state school tops the local league table). The paranoid and insecure middle classes will get in a panic for many years (and act like sheep) before either deciding either:- yes their son or daughter will somehow survive in their local school; or they'd better send their kid across town/country to that school doing so well in the league table; or putting their beliefs and fears into action they move in order to access a particular school. This is something apparently called choice and freedom and we're supposed to be proud of it. But all that happens is a status quo, we all keep our place in our great social hierarchy.   While it's great to observe any suffering of the middle classes all of this does matter. Because educational experience will basically reflect that of society and will (consciously and unconsciously) shape the kids for what follows. So there is a big contrast between the resources and mentality between the private schools (have you seen the facilities they possess!?) and the so-called 'successful' and better performing state schools (rewarded with extra government money) all the way to those schools with falling pupil numbers and labelled as 'failing' (and which the middle classes would cross the road to avoid). Would you not think that somehow we as a society (me and you) would decide that every child would have a similarly positive educational experience with similar access to resources and facilities, with as much support for kids as needed. Instead of a system that sees schools as competitors, as if there's any doubt who the winners and losers will be.   Where do single parents fit in? Most of us will send our kids to our local school whether we want to or not. In a lot of cases the schools will be those labelled 'failing'. What to do? I think as a point of principle we should send our children to our local school and, if necessary, get involved to improve it. Any group of people acting together can make a big difference, especially using simple, effective arguments. We do live in a society that pays lip service to fairness and justice. Part of the problem is people who know all this but will hypocritically act otherwise and insult their local school by sending their kids elsewhere. Groups like CASE (Campaign for State Education) are well worth supporting. Vote for MPs or Councillors who support the abolishment of private education.   Just think what's at stake! An education system that benefits everyone will then feed into the wider society and be a strong force for a truly fair society.

HUNTING BEARS – REMEMBER THE NAME!   This blog is dedicated to the friends and relations who can't be bothered to turn up to gigs or even send a good luck message – I'll get you to the next one!   Now's the time to write about my son's musical adventures so far. I like to think growing up in a home with a soundtrack of hip-hop, punk, dance, rock, reggae, Irish and heavy metal led to music seeping into his DNA. (F*** the TV!). When he was about 12 he got interested in learning both drums and guitars. With his mum we scraped together enough money for lessons at school. He proved to be a natural. Soon after his birthday present was a set of drums. Luckily the family underneath our flat welcomed them. In fact they were his best early critics – they said they'd often gather under his room just to listen to him.   He soon started jamming with various mates, sometimes 4 or 5 of them squeezed into his room making a glorious racket. All very improvised and loose. For me it was all welcome. The only law I had to lay down was a 9pm curfew so the toddler below could sleep. He got one angry complaint – it was summer and windows were open – it must've been a Grateful Dead-length jam. So this big geezer was knocking at the door a few times before I heard – 'Do you know how f***ing loud that s*** is?' He was alright though and at the end requested some Pink Floyd (more of them in a minute).   The next big step was my son's decision to take Music Technology at college in Bristol. I was pleased as I wanted him to do something he'd enjoy. He got through a shaky first year in which his mate from Portishead dropped out. By the second year he was well into it. His tutor said he was the second most talented student in the year. Being given a sackful of money by a wealthy relative (not on my side of the family!) on his 18th birthday he bought more music gear, including computer software. He could now more easily home record his own compositions – not just rock but also ambient and electronic stuff.   But it's been since he formed a three piece rock band called Hunting Bears that his abilities are starting to be recognised by the wider world. Their sound has an indie sensibility – considering the only instruments are drums and guitar it's surprisingly deep and rich. They definitely know what they're doing. The drummer is spot on, the girl singer has a great voice and stage presence. They seem to be a collective. From an early gig on College Green last summer on a local talent/new bands stage at the Harbourside Festival, they've since headlined the Louisiana and played the Folk House. There was excitement with a showpiece gig at the Roundhouse in London which has now led, amazingly, to the offer of recording a track with the legendary Nick Mason of Pink Floyd! This is hard to believe. Who knows where it might lead?   Before then is another appearance at the Harbourside festival on Aug 1st. This is followed by headlining the Croft on Aug 18th. So if you're in and around Bristol try and get to see Hunting Bears – you will not be disappointed!