Such is my love of brown envelopes I was delighted to receive not one, but two from the postman today. I'm always suspicious of manila encased contents and usually I'm right to be.
Today's offerings were from Social Services and the NHS. Now, despite having had my care rationed away in a miraculous curing event by a social worker only interested in moaning about his pay packet and ogling my backside I had an inkling that more problems were to arise. And no, not like that. He may have been impolite enough to stare at his client's arse but I have manners and so don't look at men's crotches without invitation. Much. Certainly not his. Sandals and beards do nothing for me.
Back to the point. It was the letter I received a few days ago from the Inland Revenue demanding PAYE which tipped me off. That and the very nice, very helpful lady from IR who ranted about social services when I phoned to sort out the tax issue. Her ire was such I realised she had spent more time than she cared to dealing with the mess created by Direct Payments, politicians, social workers.
I lost my care package in May last year when rationing changes in eligibility brought about my miraculous and sudden cure. Yes, that was news to me too. I'd been using the Direct Payments scheme which allows people to purchase their own care rather than being stuck with whichever gawd awful local agency has got it's hands in social services back pockets. Direct Payments basically means that you are an employer, but in practice it works out to having all the responsibility of employing staff without the privileges.
At the time I had returned all the outstanding funds to social services and the file of relevant paperwork. So I was annoyed, although not especially surprised to receive a request for the outstanding funds which also stated they were unable to find the associated paperwork and needed me to advise them of the dates involved so they could trace payment and close the account. The tone of the letter was rather accusatory and without recourse to the laws of grammar or spelling implied I had stolen said monies.
Unusually for social services on this occasion one quick phone call cleared things up. Fortunately I still had the check book for the account and so could provide an accurate date as without that it would've been much more effort to trace the repayment. For me of course. Apparently the 'work experience' student sent the letter out. It's always reassuring to know who has the authority to demand money from individuals is it not?
The second letter was a standard NHS appointment letter. It took me a while to work out what it was for, but at the bottom of the letter I discovered it came from the rheumatology appointments clerk and invited me to see the locum consultant in 10 days time. Ah well, Red did insist politely suggest I needed to see a doctor asap when I informed her of the latest delights my body is performing. Though I still haven't come up with a better way to explain the symptoms I suspect spinal instability to be the root cause of than saying it's like someone shoved an enormous butt plug up my arse whilst I was asleep then woke my up by turning the vibrations on to full power-trust me, you don't want to know how that feels! Good job I've got 10 days to figure out a non butt plug involving explanation....
It seems as though the banks as feeling the effects of the credit crunch. Ah, bless their little cotton socks. After my being daft enough and ill enough to believe the advice given to me by my bank after I lost my job I took on an enormous debt. Which of course is the most sensible course of action when one has neither salary nor welfare benefits.
I'll gloss over the time I spent making repayments. Eating was an unaffordable luxury at that time and funnily enough my memories are not happy ones. Eventually I was given help and advice by a debt management charity and ended up with a £1 a month token repayment. Food was a sudden, but welcome shock to my system.
So this morning the bank phoned me. To advise me of their very special offer. They want to reduce my debt and then write it off. How kind of them. Except they want a one of payment to write the debt off. Of £3600. Isn't that nice? They made sure to ask if I would remortgage to get them the money, or if not I, would friends or family remortgage to provide the £3600. Generous or what? They must be feeling the pinch. Perhaps the bank is hungry now? I'm not too sympathetic, but if they really are starving they can come here and I will feed them cat food. Once a day. After all, that's what people consider as a viable option when they don't have any money to eat.
If I'd had the money I would happily have made the repayments, but then I rather suspect that someone somewhere in the bank knew that pushing offering massive loans to people with no source of income whatsoever might just have the predictable result of those people defaulting on their loans. But, like I said to the nice young man who phoned this morning-if I had any money I'd happily pay £3600 to have the debt written off. Ah well, perhaps the bank will eventually be hungry enough to accept whatever is offered. At that point I will auction off my knickers and give them the profits. About £43.62 I reckon.
I'd never heard of Blog Day, but thanks to Wordsmith for Hire, who's also said embarrassingly lovely things about my blog I have now! It may be a day late, but after some considerable difficulty narrowing it down, in no particular order, here are my 5 blogs; Uncle Norman is an ex paratrooper who now works as a security consultant (no, this isn't the Captain) and gives a fascinating insight into his world.
Brainblogger who some might say had a bit of a thing for Jeremy Kyle writes about his experiences of the welfare state and more from the perspective of someone with a traumatic brain injury. MsOrdinaree is my fabulous real life friend and fellow bendy girl who writes about life with EDS from the perspective of a full time wheelchair user, wife, mother and (currently ex) nurse Nelson's Column is a very funny, if sporadic insight from the owner of Wordsmith For Hire, felix domesticus.
Carnalis because frankly we all need a bit of smut in our lives, and this comes with food too. What more could you want?
I may not be able to remember what I'm doing now, or er, in fact ever...but I can be reassured I won't get Alzheimer's. Which is frankly better than the previous option of following family history and dropping dead to prevent it.
