I only got the date wrong!
And to be fair to the DWP, they won't cover my hotel bill or taxi as the mistake was all mine.
What a sausage!
But bloody hell, I have witnessed some carnage today.
It would appear that I'm not the only one capable of returning to work.
In Lowestoft alone, there are literally thousands of us!
Admittedly, a lot of them don't have long-term chronic illnesses or disability, but a few could do with a bit of a bally brush-up.
And the language!
My word.
Now I spent many a year moving in military circles, and I've heard a few choice words that would make even the Queen blush, but this was just nonsense.
At one point, John (my Personal Adviser) asked the fellow ahead of me if he'd filled out his Appeal Form?
The answer went something like this:
"Nah, fuckin hent. Iss loik, fuckin arkskin me if loik, y'knew, I need loik anuvva piss of fuckin' paper 'n I hent, y'knew, fuckin' got a cuntin one, not diddly-squat y'knew, you nob-jockin' a-hole"
At this point I asked the gentleman in the supermarket security-guard outfit if I was actually in the right queue, and he informed me that I was, but I was also ten days too early.
We both laughed, and then the loquacious fellow threw-up on his Appeal Form, demonstrably qualifying his sickness, and inability to work today.
As I fought my way through the melee, I couldn't help but think I had made a shrewd move by not appealing.
It's going to take John, IDS and the rest of the DWP quite a while to find these chaps a suitable career.
I might just have a steal on them.
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