13.06.14 (Day 173)
Today is the only occurrence of a Friday the 13th this year. Most have more, so 2014 is a good year for the superstitious and those with Triskadecaphobia.
Soon I’m due to meet the vicar of St. Stephen’s, the church opposite our home. They’ve helped us in the past and it’s about time me and the Reverend put faces to names. We’ve communicated in the past and he buried my rat (not a euphemism). So I want to thank him personally and to apologise for the rooftop incident of a couple of weeks ago, which caused the church not inconsiderable inconvenience and disruption. Thank God they didn’t have a wedding that day as the whole area was sealed off.
The others should really come with me as it’s more some of them that cause ongoing noise out front, while I sit at the back of the building. Staying over last night, we had The Snake (me), The Dog, The Jackal, Mutley, The Bogeyman and The Courts.
After st. Stephen’s I’m at Vale Royal: my usual church in Tunbridge Wells, for soup bowl to feed the homeless and needy. After that I have a meeting with CAB to have another stab at DWP. Oh how I wish I could stab them. In the face. Repeatedly.
We shall have hot food again tonight, thanks to the gas stove donated by the mothership today. Tonight’s one pot wonder will be dictated by what food comes home to The Church of The Poisoned Minds.
The first meeting of the day – with the vicar over the road – went well. He’s less bothered about us being here than we are about being here ourselves.
Soup bowl at Vale Royal was went as it usually does: okay. Then there was dealing with DWP via CAB: the former have fucked up again. I am bereft of energy and running out of patience again. Even my CAB advisor was on the verge of giving up with those people. DWP are complete incompetents. We’ve lodged a complaint (a month ago) but all records have been lost: how convenient.
My helper tells me that when she used to work for the DSS (as it was), they had an in-tray specifically for complicated claims (apparently it doesn’t take much to make a claim “complicated”). This tray would be placed upon the desk of whichever member of staff was on holiday at any given time, for them to deal with when they returned. When they did, deadlines had passed and the applications would be placed in a bin and the claimants would have to start the application process all over again. Many would give up, which was the aim. And that’s from the inside.
The same goes for Her Majesty’s Courts and Tribunals Service. I paid part of a fine for one of my young charges yesterday and you might expect the process to be simple: they require money and I wish to pay. But no. As with so many other processes involving the state (I’m in), I was on the verge of giving up but I needed to get a youngster off of the hook. I did.
If I’d not paid the court fine, my young lady would have been dragged to court again, at further cost to the state and to the taxpayer.
Every dark cloud is filled with aggro.
Strange Days Indeed.