Tag Archives: Dole

Just an MRI scan away… pt 3

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So April’s Friday the 13th had finally arrived and with it my conflicting appointments: signing-on at my local Job Centre and an MRI scan booked at my local hospital. It was only as I got washed and mopped, ready for the inevitable stresses the day was about to unleash, that I realised the ominous date these two clashes had fallen upon, so it came as no surprise as I left my flat to see the heavens open in a downpour to greet my two mile walk.

From that moment onwards, the day began to slowly unravel…

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Just an MRI scan away… pt 2

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It was only couple of days after I uploaded my last blog entry – and part one of this tale – that my MRI scan appointment dropped through my letterbox. I ripped the envelope open and discovered the procedure was booked at my local hospital for April 13th at 3.00pm, which was only a week or so away. As I read the rest of the instructions I had to follow before undertaking the scan – and the medical form that was to be completed and taken with me – I kept flicking my eyes back to the date of the scan.

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Tick-Tock Tattoo and a case for wearing glasses

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Every two weeks on the Friday, I’ve got the unenviable task of signing-on at my local Job Centre. It’s a place governed by streams of Liberalised red tape and populated with unemployed cretins and employed denizens who have an inability to crack a smile: if you attempt to lighten the mood with a little banter, they’ll glower at you as if you’ve just spat out a hate-filled Bernard Manning joke, regardless of whether you’re just someone trying to earn their next Job Seekers giro or you’re actually an out-of work comedian trying to get a laugh.

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Between a rock and an unemployed hard place

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It’s official: I’ve been unemployed for the last three weeks and so far, things are looking very bleak indeed on the job front, as most people will realise in the current economic climate of the UK. So I’ve had to endure the whole new claim for Job Seekers benefit debacle that one must undergo when tossed onto the heap of uselessness, which is much like a dumped dog that its owners don’t want any part of anymore, hanging around for scraps. Yes, that’s my role now in society: I’m a shit-heel mutt, scurrying about for handouts, losing its hair through stress and feeling outside normality…

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