Quite a miserable start to the morning. Brutally dismal weather, the sort that sends the suicide rate crashing through the ceiling. Still, considering I’m about to embark on a novel dealing with unemployment, forced labour and poison-government, this is probably a positive.
Ideally, I can coast on all this negativity around me. Two people I know are being declared fit for work and having to go through lengthy appeals to try to hang onto the benefits they’re presently scrounging.
One has depression, anxiety and agoraphobia to the point where leaving his house is sometimes impossible for days at a time. And had a tensy-wee heart attack a couple of months back. The other is long-term alcohol-dependant, confused and incontinent – both kinds. Country AND western.
So what does that say about those of us actually in jobs? The whole point of interviews was, I thought, to weed out those unfit to do the job. It’s all very well to force benefit scroungers back into the job market (and remember, I was ‘too lazy to work’ for three whole years until I got my present job. But what are all these people to actually *do* once they’ve been press-ganged?
I might’ve written the original draft of the idiots’ graveyard when that nice Mr Major was pee-emm, but Cameron’s junta have raised abusing the vulnerable to the level of Greek tragedy. If not farce.
Why not check out my novel, “1919 (inside)” available from smashwords
Doing for interpersonal communication what david cameron does for james cameron.