Unemployment Diary, Part 4: Death and Desperation
Not to worry, the death and desperation aren't mine. They belong to everyone in my local dole office. The floor where you fill in your initial paperwork is light and airy and pleasant enough, but the floor where you sign on just reeks of despair. The last time I was there, I felt depressed for the rest of the day.
On the plus side, I've been able to find my writing fu again, and I'm churning out two to three pages of radio play per day.
Days since leaving the house: 0
Fiance's clothing status: Shirt, but no trousers or pants. And the curtains are open. Not only can I not take him anywhere, I can't even leave him at home.
On the plus side, I've been able to find my writing fu again, and I'm churning out two to three pages of radio play per day.
Days since leaving the house: 0
Fiance's clothing status: Shirt, but no trousers or pants. And the curtains are open. Not only can I not take him anywhere, I can't even leave him at home.
posted by Christine at 4:34 PM
3 Comments:
Indeed, had the Delphic Oracle been in a particularly obnoxious mood when assigning Hercules his labours she would have added a thirteenth: make a fresh dole claim in 1990s Britain without punching anyone’s lights out in sheer exasperated rage.
Indeed. One of my old housemates was on incapacity benefit for years due to back problems, and his claim got screwed up approximately quarterly due to error and/or malice by some pointy-headed bureaucrat or another. He referred to this as "being Lambethed", after the name of the local council that did the screwing up.
fiance's clothing status is hilarious!
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