My tribunal has been moved to Norwich, and although they'll refund reasonable taxi costs, a hotel is out of the question.
It's a terrible shame, as there's a damn fine Travel Lodge by the bus-station, and a Waitrose directly opposite. I foresaw a night of Bravo Gold & gouda cheese crispy crumbs, in a bed that I was not about to make!
Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) has gone rather quiet on the whole subject of finding me suitable employment. I took it upon myself in the end to apply for eleven jobs.
Most of the Armed Forces were kind, but brutally honest when it came to rejection.
(And if I'm totally honest, I wouldn't necessarily want me as a bombardier over the skies of Syria or Argentina either).
The RNLI have no current vacancies for a helmsman, and the Fire Service no longer have a a bell-ringer on the back of their trucks.
I'm still awaiting a response from Clinton Cards and La Senza, but I think retail may be a step too far.
From what I can gather, tomorrow's meeting will reassure me of my 'capability for work'. It's a bit like a preliminary interview (to ascertain that I'm not a disabled, a terrorist or a benefit cheat, I imagine).
IDS also reassured me last week that I would not have to have a 'soft job' in a factory, as he is closing all factories down. The Great British pastime of elongated tea-breaks must be checked, if we are to forge our identity as the world's leading financial services provider, and armoured protector of democracy.
I'm not taking Derek with me. We fell out over a game of draughts.
I personally think it's irrelevant how one wins, but I will not tolerate him calling it 'Checkers'.
Off to Bedfordshire now. Need a good night in the arms of Morpheus, if I'm to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.
There's always a chance too that the bally taxi-drivers will go on strike (sorry, 'protest') tomorrow.
It's not too late to enforce compulsory National Service for the feckless.
I do hope my rheumatism doesn't play up.
The last thing I need is to come across as an incapacitated imbecile.
In the words of the Iron Lady herself:
Disciplining yourself to do what you know is right and important, although difficult, is the highroad to pride, self-esteem, and personal satisfaction.
