... because the Job Centre is full of bloody idiotic douchecanoes. Seriously. Sit down kids, it's Angry Kelza's Story Time™!

After the royal fuck-up that was dropping out of university, I decided to sign on to the dole for the second time. So, on August 18th, nearly two months ago, I filled out their confusing and tedious application form, sent it off, got an appointment a few days later for an interview and went. All of that stuff went without a hitch.

Two weeks later, I signed on for the first time. No biggie. I looked forward to being able to support myself when my first payment would come through in three working days' time.

Only... my bank account remained empty.

Oh! Here's why! A lovely letter from Job Centre Plus - turns out they required a letter from the QUB School of English to confirm that I'd withdrawn. So I got in touch with someone at the school and asked them to send me a letter out. They said they would. So I waited. And waited. And waited. And I signed on again, two weeks after my first, and I still didn't get paid, and the whole having no money thing was getting fucking ridiculous.

I got back in touch with university to kindly ask what was with the hold up. FINALLY, they sent me an e-mail copy and a postal copy came through a few days later. Well, I was on cloud nine. I popped it in a freepost envelope the Job Centre had provided for this very letter and sent it off.

And I waited. And waited. And waited.

And I still didn't get paid. A few days ago, after signing on for the FOURTH time and seeing not a penny, I went to my local Job Centre and explained the situation.

The bastards 'hadn't received my letter' and they'd closed my claim down two days ago.

So, I phoned up the main centre in Birkenhead, and they promised they'd get their tracers to find the document and give me a call by 4.30pm. So I waited, and waited, and waited... and the jerks didn't even call. The next day, yesterday, I went back to my local centre, who said they'd fax off a copy of the letter that I'd printed off, along with a note explaining the situation and requesting for my claim to be reopened, and they told me I'd get a phone call later that day.

Ladies and gentlemen, I did not receive a phone call from those incompetent, lying bastards! And now my food is running out and my Dad can barely support me. Fucking marvellous.

You know what, if I was someone who just sat on my ass all day not even looking for jobs, spending all my money on alcohol and drugs, sod me, I wouldn't deserve the money. But I've applied for god knows how many jobs now since I made my claim; I don't want to be on Job Seeker's until I get back into university again - I want a bloody job so I can support myself and start saving for the future. I just need Job Seeker's Allowance so I can support myself in the meantime. Blah.

So on Monday, I'm probably going to have to go back and find out whether everything's been sorted and if not, why. They'd better have faxed that letter off.

Current read. I bought it a week or so ago when I realised I’d be waiting over an hour for an appointment I’d been given the wrong time for. I absolutely adore the surrealism of Murakami’s work; he’s like a literary Salvador Dali only not quite as crazy - he uses a style, like Dali, that’s quite detailed, realistic and figurative, and applies it to a subject matter that twists the world in a brilliant and engaging way.

And my fiancé is convinced that he’s a ninja.

Guest starring me and my stupid hair :)