Ten Hours of Craziness

My normal weekend routine normally consists of reading through a pile of good books, being jumped on by gerbils and drinking copious amounts of tea, but it was a little different this weekend. Or, at least, today. It was the day of the Unity Conference, held at the Pearce Institute in Govan. It primarily consisted of a report on everything Unity is doing (believe me, it's a lot), and general organising. Unofficially, it is also the chance to eat copious amounts of home made veggie pakora, samosas and cakes, which were rather lovely.

I'm a volunteer with Unity, mainly in the Centre itself, where I do my bit trying to support detained asylum seekers, and also chatting to those dropping by on their way to the Home Office, offering any help and making tea. It's got to be one of the most rewarding things I've ever done and I've met a lot of lovely people. Associated with the Centre is the charity, complete with shop, a football team, English classes and soon, and LGBT support service. One of the things I like about working with the organisation, as well as the fact that it helps out people who find themselves in a wide range of difficult situations (some of it can be quite harrowing), is the fact that everyone who pops by is so friendly and are out for each other. It's also opened my eyes to a lot of things, primarily the reality behind the tabloid fuzz on asylum seekers.

Some of the things disturb me, such as the fact that of late, there have been a large number of young children being detained in Dungavel or Yarlswood over the summer, despite the fact the Immigration Powers That Be are meant to be running a scheme called Alternatives to Detention, where children are 'only' detained in extreme circumstances. Also there is the fact that anyone can be detained at the drop of a hat and needless to say, this results in shock, depression and other things. And don't get me started on the legal side of it! I spent most of the conference running around after lots of cute toddlers, however, and a whale of a time was had by all playing with a flourescent pink bird puppet, a monkey, reading stories and getting covered in home made stickers. And these are the same kids that are whisked willy nilly off to a detention centre. It's not particularly fair.

On a lighter note, after that I headed off into town to see The Boy (aka Michael) and my friends perform at the latest Word Dogs, a spoken word event involving several local writers. It was rather good. The Boy gave his best performance yet, and Hal Duncan almost stole the show. I was also glad to see my good friend Paul Cockburn get up and read some drabbles (100 word fictions). He claims to struggle with his fiction, but he's definitely a great writer and probably doesn't know just how good he really is - yes Paul, that can be taken as a hint not to give it up! My mum, her partner and Michael's mum, Trish, came along too. I think it's safe to say it was something different for my mum, who must now be wondering at the company her eldest daughter keeps. Trish was very proud of her own offspring, but it seems a certain Mr Duncan, has made an impression, as Trish has been raving about him since she got home, so we've been informed by Cat, Michael's sister. As I've known Hal (or Al as the scruffs who go down the pub with him call him) since I was 19, I find it quite interesting when other folk I know become his fans. After all, he's the lovable, skinny and slightly mad dude who introduced me to the wonders of a good pint of Guinness and Rufus Wainwright!