Monday, 18 February 2013

A Dole Bludgers Nightmare

A Dole Bludgers Nightmare
Monday – 9am
Yawned, opened my eyes, looked at the clock. Wrote this and decided it was too early to get up.

Monday – 11am
Woke up again, decided it was now was time to get up. Got out of bed, and ran a bath, whilst it was running I went down stairs, put the kettle on for my morning pint of tea, poured some coco pops into a bowl and added the milk and a spoon of sugar. The kettle boiled and I added the water to the cup and tea bag. The bath was nearly ready, so I took the cereal and tea upstairs and got in for a nice relaxing soak. Grabbing a magazine from beside the toilet I read for a while and became sleepy again.

Monday – 1 pm
Ah shit, the coco pops have disintegrated and the magazine has turned to sludge at the bottom of the bath, and it’s stuck in my bits. The tea, on the other hand is now beautifully dark, almost coffee in colour and with enough of that furry taste to make it seem as though it could recoat an Indian restaurants wallpaper. Getting out I scrape the remains of an article about ‘the body beautiful’ off my thigh. I stand on the bathroom scales and wince as the dial spins round stopping somewhere I won’t mention. But knowing full well that: the sponge cake, six pack of coke, 12” Pizza, economy pack of digestive biscuits and a freezer full of ready meals have to be eaten before I go on a diet. Having dried myself and gotten dressed, I grab a cigarette and settle down in front of the TV, with 250 channels to choose from, how come I can never find anything to watch? I settle for a soap. Having missed breakfast I pick through the remaining pizza and settle down in front of the telly.

Monday 3:30pm
The bloody door rings, and right in the middle of a repeat of Ready Steady Cook. Answering it, I see a bloke in a suit holding a clip board. “Miss Smith?” he asks
“Uh huh”,
“I’m here to repossess your belongings”,
“What, you can’t do that”,
“I have a letter here that says I can” he shows me a letter, it says I owe 11 grand in unpaid parking fines. But here’s the thing, I think it’s really unfair that I should have to pay 30 quid to park my car outside my house and when I don’t pay it or move it, they keep giving me parking tickets cos I won’t move it. I mean, surely once I’ve had one parking ticket I should be able to park for as long as I like. They sent me letters about it and I talked to them, but all I got was nonsense about not being able to park there. I can’t get a parking permit because the car isn’t registered to where I live, cos it’s cheaper to get insurance 30 miles away. But the council doesn’t care, but they should care. That’s what people pay their taxes for. It ain’t my fault I can’t find a job and pay for parking. You’d have thought that after not having paid 160 tickets they’d be a bit more understanding, especially since this has been going for so long.

“Sorry mate you can’t come in, this ain’t my house. I’m staying with a mate for bit and all the stuff is his”
“I have a letter here …”
I shut the door and wandered back to watch the telly, children's TV would be starting soon.
“You can’t ignore this Miss Smith” he shouted through the letter box and dropped a letter through.

Tuesday – 2am
Bed time, a few mates came over for drinks and a movie and a joint or two and left about 30 minutes ago. It’s been a good day, being unemployed may be boring at times, but I get enough money for fags, Sky TV, booze and food, what with the rent being paid to my mate, we’re quids in. But why aren’t they paying for the car? It ain’t my fault. Night, night.

The Dream
What a nightmare, I dreamt I was unemployed and about to lose everything because the government wouldn’t pay my parking fines and tried to blame me. The cold sweat was pouring off my face. I fumbled around in the dark. Yup Dave is there, the cat’s purring at the end of the bed. The alarm clock says 6am, ahhh another 30 minutes of bed time before we have to get up, get Sylvia ready for nursery and then head off to work. I snuggle up to Dave and before I know it, the buzzer is going, I jump into a shower, hear Dave stir and Sylvia runs to me, just as I’m getting dry. Dave jumps into the shower and I get Sylvia her breakfast and grab some cereal for myself.  It’s 8am and we all leave the house together, my job as an estate agent is only a short drive and I like to get there before the shop opens to get the place sorted. Dave works about an hour away and has a mad drive. I don’t envy him but he enjoys his job.
At lunch time, I went and sorted out a few direct debits and spent 20 minutes trying to get through to the council on the phone to  pay a parking fine before it doubled. I gave up on the phone, there are only so many times you can hear a recorded voice telling you how important you are to them before you want to reach down the line and pull the tape out. If I'm so important why don’t they hire more staff to pick up the phones. Surely they’ve worked out that more people call them during their lunch times? I know they’re my problem, but they’re an occupational hazard. I grab a coat and head up to the parking shop. It’s a depressing place, the staff are abrupt and queues take a long time to move. Ahead of me was an Eastern European, he was arguing with staff about having to pay his tickets, but they have their rules and don’t get paid enough to put up with the constant attitude they get from people who think they’re owed something for nothing.  Eventually the man acquiesced and got out a big wad of fifty pound notes, and counted out about 500 pound. It barely dented the pile.

The afternoon was a mad rush, it’s a busy time of year, just before the Budget, buyers and sellers wanting to move before the inevitable Stamp Duty rise. After all who wants to give even more money to the government if it can be avoided?  So I ran home, picked up Sylvia from the nanny, cooked our dinner of tortilla wraps with salmon fish sticks and a baked potato, and watched some TV with her before putting her to bed. Dave came home, just as she was drifting off. She of course woke up, wanting to see daddy, so I left them too it and put my feet up with a glass of wine and bit of TV. He finally emerged from her room at nine, having dozed off with her. We chatted, made tired unenergetic love and went to sleep; knowing that tomorrow would bring more of the same.

Tuesday - 10am
God I need a pee. I had a really weird dream last night. Dreamt I was a posh bird, with a job and a husband and a child and I paid my bills. It was scary to think that some people actually want to pay their bills and work for their money. Suckers, now it’s time for breakfast TV and a fag.

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