Wheelistically @ Claire.NU

And so, we embark on week 7 of K’s ever-expanding bout of unem­ploy­ment with the DWP still not grant­ing K any income of any description.

I sup­pose it’s funny really, so many people make such noise about how a vast pro­por­tion this country’s pop­u­la­tion is ille­git­im­ately sit­ting with its fin­gers up its col­lect­ive arse wait­ing for the Giro to fall on the mat. Yet, a per­son gets made redund­ant (and is there­fore rendered a mem­ber of the Jam Roll Degen­er­ates by default, through no fault of their own) and then attempts to claim what the Gov­ern­ment says they’re entitled to, as a (pre­vi­ously) tax-paying Brit­ish Cit­izen, and there’s noth­ing but grief. I don’t know how it is that the afore-mentioned arse-pickers man­age to avoid being left swinging from the rafters, with a noose fash­ioned from red tape and not a pot to piss in, but I sure as hell wish they’d tell me.

Nigh on 2 months with no income and the best part of a fort­night to go before we get a visit from some nosey bint to delay assess the claim fur­ther. You know, that claim that was filed 7 weeks ago. I don’t how it is that K’s expec­ted to pay the bills that con­tinue to be pushed through the door given that we quite lit­er­ally have a budget of erm… well, noth­ing actu­ally, but I’m half inclined to re-address them to DWP on her behalf.

Yes, I know you’re think­ing “but what about your last pur­chase?” Firstly, that was my birth­day money and secondly, it was spent before I real­ised quite what a saga this had evolved into. Hindsight’s a bit of bas­tard like that, you see.