Todays the day when I face a new claims advisor. His name is on the confirmation letter but we've not had dealings before, so I haven't a clue what sort of person he is. Could he be worse than Bovine Betty? Well, actually, yes, he could be. We shall see.

The problem with handovers like this this is that my jobsearch agreement gets changed. The 'agreement' is an informal contract. It sets out what I have to do as a minimum each week to earn my benefits. I always try to exceed those requirements by a comfortable margin and even then occaisionally they get very dismissive of my efforts. That's because they don't believe I make any. That's the problem with being a jobseeker - you get painted as a professional lazy-ass scrounger and you have to prove and confirm you're actually doing what you claim to be.

So I've just spent the morning putting all my paperwork together. A loose leaf folder, bursting with rejection letters and impossible to close properly any more. Those hideous little jobsearch record booklets in which I have to write in all the various minutae of my efforts to find employment. Printouts of emails and CV's. I now have a rucksack full of paper. He'd better be impressed or I'm definitely going to throw a tantrum.

Now the question is, apart from whether he'll treat me as a bona fide jobseeker or dole cheat, is whether he'll use my title as his employers diversity statement says he should. My guess is that he won't. His immediate reaction will be that I'm trying some scam, or worse, simply taking the pee. If I were a professor, doctor, prist, or a politician I might well hear him use that title without a hitch, but as a jobseeker?

This is part of the problem. Granted many unemployed people have no intention of a days work - I've seen plenty of them over the last year - but there's an attitude that being out of work makes you a lesser person. For all the claims that department employees should show respect to their customers, the majority pay lip service to that requirement. They really do see you as an unwanted impediment to society. In a way I am, because I currently do no useful work for my pittance, but what an illustration of how society stratifies itself according to wealth, or more importantly, the visual impression of it.

Somehow I doubt my olive green military surplus trousers are going to impress him. Nor will all these bundles of letters and documents. Nor will proof of my entitlement to use the title 'Lord'. What would impress him? Get a job, Caldrail.

I am trying you know.

Peace And Calm

It's all quiet in Swindon right now. Our failure to demolish America in the World Cup in South Africa has not resulted in hordes of outraged fans going on the rampage in our town centre. Swindon isn't the only town to place bans on public display of large screen television showing our progress through this soccer competition, and won't be the last, but at least I'm spared chorus lines of drunken football fans outside my home. Even my neighbours have turned down the volume somewhat lately, without any official complaining from me.

Maybe it's the weather. There's a sort of heaviness to the air. Warm but no sunny. Cloudy but not wet. Always threatening to rain but waiting for that moment you venture out without suitable clothing. Then again, maybe our late night revellers have been attacked and eaten by urban foxes? I did hope so. In the event one reason is that a pub up the hill amongst the grotty terraced housing has reopened after a year or two of abandonment. I saw the rebuilding work on the premises and I did actually think it was being rebuilt as accomodation. Everything else is right now.

In fact, so quiet has it gotten that twice I've heard police cars making a quick WOOOO! with their siren as they drive past. What's that in aid of? Warning drunks to stay on the pavement?

Bye For Now

Right, time to pack my sack and wander down to the Job Centre and be utterly crushed as a human being once more. Another day, another signature.