Seven hours. Seven. That's how long it took me to compile the paperwork the Job Centre have asked for concerning my last fortnight of job searching. Come monday morning I'm going to slap those wads of paper on the desk and believe me, sparks will fly if they get shirty over it.

The trouble is, there's a claims advisor there who doesn't like me very much. He's a very urbane, serious type, and for him any hint of jollity from a claimant is a sign that not enough tyranny has been wrought upon the hapless hordes of useless spongers in his care. Given the forms I had to fill in were dubious to begin with (I've mentioned that before) one gets the idea they want to slap me down.

I am, after all, a somewhat irreverent character. His purple shirt, dark tie, and the worlds most anonymous haircut (it just sits on his head like a lump of hair) might for some give off the image of bureaucratic superiority that he seems to desire, but to me it just doesn't. He so wants to be taken seriously and instead comes across as ridiculously pompous. He's already interviewed me and warned me three times that it was in my interest to be honest. Clearly my protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears. He has, in true bureaucratic style, filed me as 'dubious character'. That's what you get for not being as miserable as he is.

This does seem to happen sometimes, in all walks of life, not just dole claiming. We are social animals and occaisionally one member of the community feels he has a right to demand subservience of the others, and the general idea is to force the other to beg for forgiveness. I've had that done to me in the workplace and it never worked there either. Some people can beg for breakfast. They just say whatever is going to please their superior, and live to fight another day. I can't do that. It's called honour.

I can recall a quote from someone who once said that "You can lose anything in life, but never lose your honour". Obviously he wasn't surviving on benefits.

Car Park Woes

The Granville Street car park is a busy place during shopping hours. Nothing grand, just a block of housing demolished decade ago and turned into a ground level arena of car driving competition for spaces. There's even a one way system, carefully marked out in white paint, which the ravenous shopprs ignore in their quest to get that space before the other guy.

I felt sorry for the old gent I saw driving around the area in his safe little hatchback. He was crawling along at less than walking pace, trying to spot an available space with eyes past their best, and once he'd managed to find a vacant spot and claim it as his own, crushed the wing of his car against a metal bollard.

Poor chap. He tried so hard to park safely.

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch

Did I ever mention my neighbours? They seem to be getting on better with each other now. Yesterday afternoon she giggled and barricaded herself in the bedroom while the boyfriend tried to push open the door. Later they had a singing contest. It's like living above 'Conan The Rogers And Hammerstein'.

What?... Did he get in? I dunno, but at least they were quiet for ten minutes.