I Sometimes Wish Money Didn't Exist.

Having a quick break. This domestic violence story that was phoned in yesterday isn't fun to work on. I've been talking to both the victim and Helena, who apparently won't move her violent ex who lives next door, and no I have both sides of the story I don't know who to believe. She's claiming Helena are doing nothing to resolve this dangerous situation and Helena, ever the benevolent housing association, are denying any wrongdoing, and saying the ex-next-door actually put in a request to be moved as she has an injunction against him.

On one hand, the victim could be exaggerating and lying by omission (e.g. she didn't tell us about the injunction) in the hope that the press will give her leverage over Helena. But then Helena have got their reputation as a benevolent housing association to consider, too - they could be trying to downplay the story by taking away the impact.

So my head's completely frazzled, and my impossibly long to-do list isn't helping. I think I'll have to bring some work home with me, for once.

Money's starting to show its ugly side again. I have to visit the Job Centre again today to make it clear I'm still only volunteering so my money doesn't get stopped. My bus tickets will no longer be refunded so I'll be forking out about £80 a month that I won't get back. I'm not sure I can cancel my coach tickets to Cambridge and get reimbursed purely on the fact that Holly let me book them and then changed her mind on mode of transport to the Cambridge Rock Festival and I still owe her £28 for the hotel rooms she just booked out of the blue. Jason wants me to go to Ireland with him in August and I'm never going to be able to afford it - I feel awful because he really wants us to go and he's got his hopes up because until recently I thought I could manage it. Oh bloody hell.

I've just checked my bank account: £41. That'll cover bus tickets for another fortnight. No lunch for me, no books, no CDs, Vinyls, magazines or clothes. No eating out and certainly no alcohol. I'll be giving my bank card to my Dad except on Wednesdays, when I'll have to withdraw £20 bus money, so I won't be able to spend a penny otherwise. There'll be no lending and certainly no borrowing.

God, money is such a fucked up concept. People have been brainwashed into linking it with power. It's money that will make or break me going to university, for instance. It's just wrong on so many levels that I need cash to better my education. When we invented currency we were only condemning ourselves to generations of poverty and a mad struggle to have more than everybody else.

Kelza is About To Learn a Valuable Lesson in Austerity

I think life's starting to screw me around again. I went to the Job Centre to find my claim's been closed since I hadn't gone back within five days of my TNG course ending - I only found out it had ended the week after - so I am now living on absolutely nothing. I have to phone the rapid reclaim line now to get it all up and running again, which could set me back a couple hundred quid, at least.

I'll probably have to leave work an hour early today to get it all sorted out as soon as possible, because I can't afford to waste any time. I feel bad asking Steve for time off, though, for what is essentially my own cock-up, even though he said if I ever needed a half-day I need only ask.

( I'm sitting in Victoria Square right now, since there's no point going back to work for another half an hour. )

People Have Been Phoning In Stories Faster than I Can Write Them.

It's been a fairly productive day - not so much as yesterday, but it definitely feels like I haven't had a moment's procrastination, but for that cheeky half-hour before I nipped to the Job Centre. People have been phoning stories in faster than I can write them; my to-do list is insanely long now and it's looking like I'd do myself a favour to bring something home with me to clear my workload up a bit. The last thing I want is to have more and more work piling up as time goes on - I can barely cope as it is.

Right. If I come back tomorrow with my to-do list at least halved, with all stories on there written as much as they can be from home (i.e. without contacting people by phone or getting photos sorted out), then I'll be happy. I'll do what I can at home tonight, and tomorrow will be dedicated to finishing off.

Thursday will be a 'finishing off' day as well, actually. Since we're on deadline today, it's unlikely that anything I finish tomorrow will go in this week. I just hope that the piling-on of work will ease off over the next few days.

Burning the Midnight Oil - Not Just a Sixth Form Thing!

I've finally put myself through listening to the latest Lancashire Hotpots CD - so far it hasn't been too bad, but for the song about OCD (I don't have the tracklisting in front of me but it's track 6), which is appalling.

Meanwhile, I've been busy getting through the work I've brought home with me. Four articles have been written to the best of my ability - one's done and dusted, the other three are just in need of a last few details. Two more items on that list are also as good as done - the aforementioned domestic violence story and the Robyn Appleton EDS story that's been sitting around for months, crying out for a picture to go with it. Two stories are follow-ups, one I'm interviewing for tomorrow, three are reviews and two I haven't even been given contact information for yet. So I guess it isn't as bad as it first seemed.

To be honest, I think I'll get off to bed soon. Let the album finish first. Tomorrow morning, I'll phone the Job Centre and National Express.

We had a home visit from the German Shepherd Rescue people today - it could be the weekend we get a dog, and Dad's particularly interested in a gorgeous 4-year-old female called Meg. She's timid, with separation anxiety problems, but Dad's always home so he'll be there to keep her company and help her get over it.

Anyway, the album's over now - off to bed!