WORK RELATED ACTIVIA

Felt I better dip back in before Larry Grayson gets to run Great Britain, and we're all sucking minestrone through the Eurotunnel on a formaldehyde bed made of chintzy pottery.
Shut that door and bolt it by all means.
Put up a ruddy great wall as well!
But if poofters in wigs & dresses start telling our democratically-elected GCHQ how to run this disunited kingdom of ours, what hope have we got when it comes to restoring parliamentary sovereignty?
The people demanded we were back in control.
The people have spoken.

Call Me Dave's definitive victory over those bearded Trots in opposition was a rallying cry to all of those who had parents who fought a war (then gave birth) to keep us free from the tyranny of fascism and stinky cheese.
And now the Iron Lady is back, to ensure we rightly take control of what is ours, was always ours, and will eventually be ours, once we've ascertained what exactly it really is?

Bravo to Nigel and Iain 'Peace Be Upon Him' DS.
Sterling work by Govey.
And I have to say, I thought Gidiot was one of those neo-liberal centrists for a bit.
But it turns out, he's just like his father!
So.
Jolly good show all round.
(Mrs.Mac says you have to start sentences with 'So' now, otherwise the Under 35's can't understand you).

I truly believe that if we can get President Trump's Fajita-Fence to circumnavigate the non-Rio dagoes, and throw up a barrier between Buenos Arses and Port Stanley, we're only two corned beef tins short of a brand new British Empire.

http://yannymac-dwileflonker.blogspot.com/2013/03/hands-off-our-mineral-deposits-mrsargy.html

So.
Good times ahead.
Bit disappointed with those who decided to jump ship with the pinkos in June.
Felt Branson would've been more patriotic, what with all that tax he doesn't pay.
A beard hides a multitude of sins.
And I couldn't for the life of me understand why Wiff-Waff Cumberbatch's eldest chose to bat for the Johnnies??
I thought after Her Royal Highness the Queen of the Commonwealth & the United Kingdom of GB & N.I. gave him that CBE he'd be a betting certainty for a place in the first XV, a landed-peerage in Dorset and an eleventh series of Sherlock?
Let that be a lesson to any luvvies out there - Don't play colonial wikipeadophiles.
They're just trying to bring attention to themselves.

So.
The real reason I called was to say how delighted I am that this new chap Damian 'Peace Also Be Upon Him' Green has managed to finally get me back off the feckless gravy boat, and back into the coalface; albeit without any coal, but with the promise of a career in the Independent Contractor Short Term Engagement sector.

Apparently Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) will be called upon to display all of his talents at DWP JC+, and find me and the other 'boys that I meet down on the line'
( LOLL!! ! # -(:; smiling face - hashtag )
worthwhile jobs in the newly booming post-Brexit/pre-Brexit economy.I toyed with applying for a banker's position, but when I realised there were more than two banks to choose from, I had a nosebleed and panicked with indecision.


So.
I've decided to apply for the post of Leader of the Opposition.
If there is one?
Damo says if the ESA Support Group don't go for auditions, all of that lottery money they've been splurging on the soap-dodgers will have to be withdrawn through sanctioning.
I'm massively in favour as you know.

http://yannymac-dwileflonker.blogspot.com/2012/02/we-are-nothing-without-our-banks.html

Zoinking oiks (along with badger-baiting) are well known rural pastimes, and if Mrs Merkin and the Belgiums want to stop us from smoking ferret pelts, as well as denying us a good old pint of two-star petrol, then I say bring back the 8 day week.
(And abolish the weekend).
The sheep-shirkers have had it their way for far too long!
Tax credits and Simon Cowell do not make for an imperial nation.

Now all I have to do is get old Abbot-snatcher off the pot, destroy the multi-party electoral system, recapture Calais, trigger Particle 50 and run for leader of UKIP.
Tally-ho!

I wonder if they'll reimburse my expenses?
Those fine chaps at ATOS did.

God save the Queen.
And bring back compulsory boarding school for the Under 5's.

THE FALLACY OF EXHAUSTIVE HYPOTHESES

Apologies for the delay in bloggering chaps.
This whole kerfuffle with St. Iain 'Peace Be Upon Him' Duncan Smith has left rather a sour taste in my mortgaged-up mouth, and Mrs.Mac is beside herself over who will win Top Gear.
Needless to say, the fellow that's taken over at DWP HQ appears to be cut from the same cloth-cap as St.Iain, and it's more of the same for Broken British Benefit Bolsheviks & Their Gypsy Wedding Council Houses.

Stick them in the ruddy army I say!
That'll sort the tweets from the chavs!

Anyhoo.
On to this bally Referendum thingamajig.
I was terribly undecided for a while.
Far too much choice.
When Jeremiah Corbine stuck his trotty little snout into the mix, I was very much in favour of going all-out with Rupert, Bernard and Bojo.
But when I saw that David & Gideon had plans for a Google-Airbus sponsored European Super Army,
AND they were going to sell-off our failing NHS to the Yanks, I must say I was torn like Imbruglia.

Luckily Mrs. Mac wants nothing to do with the whole shebang, favouring the Rosberg/Hamilton dichotomy over central party policy.
Therefore I shall take her proxy vote from her Chablis-stained trotters, and have two stabs at voting myself.

I'm thinking I will stick one in the back of the Euro Soccer net and go all out with Nicky Morgan and the Remain lot.
But I shall also move heaven & earth and the Isle of Wight to a more defensive position in the mid-Atlantic, and join Nigel & Govey for a damn good Leave vote as well.
Win/Win.
Job's a good 'un!

God save the Queen!

NOW IS THE WINTER OF THE MALCONTENT

Hello.
I know it's been a while since I last 'touched-base' with you chaps, but things have gone slightly awry recently.
Here at Dwile Flonker HQ, we have found ourselves wrangling with a bally sticky issue.
We haven't been this fidgety since we thought we'd found reds under Penelope's bed, only to discover later that it was her school prep.
I personally feel that the aforementioned issue is one of grave pertinence, but Mrs.Mac has, since only this past Thursday, refused to discuss the matter completely.

The subject is the Winter Fuel Allowance.

In my experience, those that qualify for the Trot-inspired piece of welfare shenanigary, only spend their allowances on frippery & tut.
The skivers, the shirkers and the shivering timbers take the money that 'Dave's economy' can ill-afford to give, and literally set fire to it, with their superking cigarettes and their Paddy Power gambling habits.
Allotment Alan's small but spacious semi-detached is frequently cold, but the fumes generated by his special cigarettes could evict a bee colony from the top floor of a blasted tower-block, were he ever to get out of his armchair!

As a nation, we're due extremely low temperatures this weekend (notably coming in from the scroungier parts of Eastern Europe); so I hope the feckless and unwashed have invested in a blanket or two, because it's the idle who will suffer in the cold, along with their taxpayer-benefited children.
And will they moan!
I personally feel the allowance should be presented to the deserving (the Atos frieze-marked disabled, key-workers, ex-civil service, Sky TV subscribers and the military) in the form of a crossed cheque made payable to British Gas, or in the form of kindling, logs or coal.
Those of us who do not require their allowance, should be able to donate their fuel to Falkland Islanders in need, or in very special circumstances, old ladies with British passports.

If Millibland and his pinko cronies would only shut their bally mouths once in a while, (Sir) Iain Duncan Smith  may lead us to a promised land; a less corrupt, better run, 'newer' society; one based on hard work, savings and sensible opinions.
Strivers who earn over a certain amount should not be penalised for being better than everyone else.
The carrot & stick approach is beginning to work on old Cleggy, so I'm hoping we can switch to a crop & a whip before it's too late.
I also worry that Mrs.Mac may be afflicted with this modern scourge of liberalism; this Facedbook generation's Twittery Spring thing.
So we'll see how she copes when I let her out of the coal-bunker on Monday.

Until then, keep warm.
And God save the Queen.

He Who Strives

He Who Strives

WHO PUT THE 'TORY' IN INFLAMMATORY?

Ahead of my fourth tribunal hearing on Monday, I thought I'd better keep the old interblog chaps up to speed, so as to avoid any confusion if I'm shipped overnight to L.A., to replace Simon Towell on that talent show thingy.

I must say I'm not sure this is a good waste of taxpayers' money.
I'm perfectly capable of finding myself fit for work, without these bally DWP chaps suggesting I might not be.

My last tribunal hearing was cancelled because of (off the record & only allegedly) "the judge and doctor being struck off".
Now I know most of the GPs, JPs and BPs in East Anglia, and you have try ruddy bloody hard to get struck off these days.
An old friend of mine (let's call him Bunny) was eventually dispatched for charging his patients 200 guineas for a sick-note, something the GMC frowned heavily upon.
Bunny set up his own private practice after that, turning his back on the whole shoddy affair.
As he correctly said;
"What's more important?
Saving lives or creating work for a bunch of left-wing namby pamby trots in a nurse uniform?"
I think we can all agree with the sentiment.

I am however getting a tad miffed about all this 'Con-Dem' naysaying, and general dissent within the ranks.
It's not our Dave's fault the spics (and the wops) spent all the ready cash, and forced us all into upping the drawbridge.
Dave cares about England, and he and his cohorts IDS(RIP) & Christopher Grayling are damned fine chaps when it comes to getting the economy up and running again.
Only last week, an Air Commodore friend of mine (let's call him Piggy) told me in the strictest confidence, that our arms industry is worth £22 BILLION to old blighty's crown jewel purse.
That's an awful lot of cash when compared to say sales figures for the liberal nonsense comic The Guardian, that rarely breaks the £6million mark.
(My association soccer team Brighton & Hove Albion have a left-half worth more than that!)

Anyway. I think it's time we started looking at the positives in this whole welfare reform thingy.
Mrs Mac feels that my desire to pack up my old kit-bag and pick up my rifle again should be tempered with a visit to Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser).
I personally feel she is always wrong, and with a little joined-up sky and a little blue thinking, we could get England (and a large part of Wales) back into work and out of the labour exchange. We need progressive thinkers like Bunny & Piggy, a good dose of the old bamboo, a few cold showers and a jolly bracing work-ethic that says

No! To shirkers.
No! To disabled benefit hoarders.
No! To mini-cabs.
No! To heavy-petting & bombing.
No! To council houses for single mums with itinerant boyfriends.
No! To foreigners who aren't tourists.
No! To free stuff for those who haven't earned the right to free stuff yet.

And no to this have-a-go-hero culture that rewards immigrants with no grasp of the King James' Holy Bible, and who insist on having families.
This 'bogof' society that expects free prescriptions, when men fought and died against the Germans to put square meals on the table, and the right to vote for discipline in schools and the right to bare their arms.
This septic isle, rotten to the core, and full of alcopops and Stephen Fry homogenousness.

It's time to keep Britain tidy again!
It's time to dig deep for victory.
It's time to keep mum.
It's time to bag it & bin it (or face a fine of up to a maximum of £1000).

THE SUN'LL COME OUT TOMORROW.......

So tomorrow's the Big Day.
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.

WHY TESCO COULD START SELLING GUNS

I'm beginning to feel a little bit out of touch with society.
I'm actually beginning to think that Lady T was right, on the one issue we disagreed.
How can so many British people be opposed to a Workshare scheme that offers good, solid, back-breaking opportunities, to the millions of hopeless kids from Generation i, that will keep them off MyFace and Bobo, and prevent them watching endless Jeremy Vine shows?
IDS and Chrissy G were right to call these luddites 'job-snobs'.
If Lowestoft John(my Personal Adviser) is correct in his calculations, there's a job for everyone out there. Not just me.
The work-shy have just got to get their fingers out of their eye-pods, and find one.
I myself applied for both the Wolverhampton Wanderers' manager's job AND the Chelsea manager's job this week.
(Chelsea were quick to respond that they didn't have a vacancy yet).

And I see that even more 'pseudo-capitalist' Trotskyite organisations are joining Jammy Oliver's Sainsburys lot.
I've no idea who Maplins, Argos or Superdrug are, but their withdrawal from this brilliant scheme just goes to show how liberal-lefty we've all become.

Only the other day I went to the theatre to see a play about John Peel's Shed by that Osborne fella; not the one who's spent too long under the bed with Red Vince (when did it become Tory policy to maintain taxation for heaven's sake? I sincerely hope Dr.Fox and his Network Chart can overthrow this ruddy pinko soon, and prevent further public spending!)
No. This Osborne was an arty-farty type with a shoddy haircut.
So after a huge argument with Mrs.Mac over whether I should wear Blue Stratos or Paco Rabanne (the latter won; as it always should for theatre engagements) we set about enduring an hour & ten minutes of idle tosh about 'popular music' of all things!
There wasn't one reference to John Peel's National Service days; something myself, and most Radio Times readers know him for, only too well.
We would've left early were it not for the hoardes of unwashed kids standing and clogging up the aisles.
Was this theatre or a bally pop concert?

Anyway, it led me to thinking about what Kinky Clegg had been saying with regard to all these so-called 'neets'.
If they really were a ticking time-bomb, and in the light of the recent defence cuts, why not use this explosive mass of apathy for military purposes?
Tesco's wishy-washy stance about offering these benefit scroungers a living wage, as well as a bit of discipline and a uniform, could be harnessed and packaged as a form of National Service, if you like.
It didn't do John Peel any harm, and just think how many Clubcard points one would get on the purchase of a GPMG or a Lee Enfield?
Give all of these eye-phone gazing hoodies a decent haircut, a tin of Kiwi boot polish, a bit of Duraglit and a massive dollop of elbow grease, and we might just save the Faroes from Argentine invasion.
I'm not necessarily advocating sending the Tesco feckless into battle with the Talibanese, but I am suggesting that if we have to give them money, let's prop up the nation before we prop up Tesco shareholders.
They get the experience, Tesco get the gun & polish sales, and we reap the Clubcard point rewards.

I might even think about applying for a PT instructor's role at boot camp!

(Providing it doesn't involve too much standing, or raising my arm at a right angle for prolonged periods).

IT WAS EXPLOITATION THAT BUILT US AN EMPIRE.

I'm absolutely livid with the state of the UK economy.
It would appear that some of our finest British institutions are making huge staff-cutbacks, whilst the seemingly neverending dole queue gets larger & larger, thus creating further queues of job-shirkers, trying to get Daytime Double-Deals.

Tried to book a mid-week, midday table last week, at Prezzos, Zizzis and WagaMaMas, and all were fully booked.
Couldn't even get a table at Nando's, and this was on the 13th of February, not the special day itself.
Ended up watching War Horse for a 3rd time, but I let Mrs.Mac have a cheesy dip with her nachos on this one occasion.

So it would appear we're going to go the way of the wops & Frogs, and have our Amateur Athletics Association ratings reduced.
Good riddance I say.
The sooner the Chinese get over here and re-instate National Service, the better.

Meanwhile, all the twittering dogshit-steppers are up in arms about Mandatory Work Activity. If they all stopped gazing into their eye-phones and watched where they're heading, they'd see that a bit of unpaid work could well be the bally tonic this septic isle is in need of.
Tesco are offering free uniforms and a potential career path for the feckless, and all the couch potato copy & pasters can do, is bleat to each other about so-called unfairness and unwarranted exploitation.

And I see the pinkos at Waterstones & Sainsbury's are distancing themselves from this brave move by Dave?
It's a 'workfare' scheme.
No one said anything about 'work-fair' schemes.
The DFS sale is over.
Your Moonpig app is worthless.
It's time to get your fingers out.
(I certainly won't be buying any of Jammy Oliver's Taste Your Differences Butternut Squash Risotto + Fresh Rocket for a while, that's for sure).

Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) has assured me that my inability to stand for any length of time, and my sporadic inability to lift anything, will not discount me from this new initiative.
I'm in one of IDS' DWP WRAGs, so I'm more than capable of having an equal chance with the unwashed.
It would appear that a lot of the bad-back brigade give up workfare within the first thirteen weeks (probably nipping back to mum & dads' in Poland for a handout!) thus creating even more career opportunities for those of us who actually want to work.

The problem with these million-or-so benefit scrounging kids is that they don't understand the concept of austerity.
Not all of us can be fashion designers or social-media experts.
Some of us are foot-soldiers.
An army marches on its stomach, and an apple a day can certainly make a man(or woman) of everyone.
And if Tesco go down the Swanee, it won't be just the Finest apples we'll be missing.
I think there's a fair chance that Value pet insurance and Clubcard deals will suffer too.

I think I'm going to try and excel at trolley-collecting.
Every Tom Dick or Mary is going to want to stack shelves, or be the Deputy Manager, so I might try my hand at more niche skills.
I hope I get a name badge.

SNIVELLING LITTLE FLAG-WAVING GROVELLERS

Now, I'm all for a bit of patriotism.
If Strauss & Co. weren't such whingers, I'd probably have bought Mrs.Mac a subscription to SkyTV for her birthday; or at least a one-way ticket to Abu Dhabi.

But this whole Diamond Jubilee thing.

It's gone beyond a celebration of Her Royal Highness, Her Majesty's Power & Dominion Over All Things Great British & Northern Irish, and turned into a rather poorly attended barbecue, in the garden of a work-shy layabout, who only shops at Asda.

Yes. Of course we should celebrate Elizabeth Regina's 100years on the throne.
And yes. We should take to the streets, festooned in the colours of Empire, for one day, in which hard-working bank clerks and their employers, can relax and enjoy themselves.
But all this Official Accession Day, followed by Official Coronation Day, followed by Trooping the Colour, and then the Olympics, followed by then another Bank Holiday.
Well, it all seems a little, dare I say, jingoistic?

I have been found 'fit for work' by those fine chappies at Atos, and despite his initial reluctance, Lowestoft John (my Personal Adviser) thinks I may have a chance at being employed as well. He only joked yesterday that my perseverance in using landline telephonic communications would make me an awfully good double-glazing/solar panelling salesperson! (He said 'salesman' so I naturally corrected his mistake).
The problem with Lowestoft John is that he doesn't yet realise that I have no experience in windows or doors.
Nice to be thought of though.

So my problem is, if we are to have almost half a year off for flag-waving, plus another 3 months off for inclement weather, will there be enough work to go around?
I know Dave seems to think so, that's why he's welcoming Australians to our shore; the ones who can act or sing a bit.
If I'm honest, when Kylie Minogue left for home, things did start to get a little worse. And the economy slid further downhill when Dannii left X Factor, so there's a method in his antipodean madness.
And IDS is still hopeful, although he remains steadfastly quiet these days.

I wept a little when I saw children waving flags at Her Majesty this morning.
Not because they were being patriotic to our head of state, but because they were out of school (called 'truancy' in my day), when the snow had quite obviously melted, and there was little excuse.
I noted one or two feckless parents trying to avoid the glare of the cameras too.
I bet they're all on this £26,000 gravy train?

What we need is more Personal Advisers, and a lot less holidays.
Bring back the 6day week, abolish the benefits system, and let's make the Britain that the fine filly Elizabeth inherited, 'Great' again.

IF ONLY REAL LIFE WAS PAPERLESS LIKE THE LEVESON ENQUIRY?

Further problems in my attempt to get the old career kick-started.

Another letter arrived from IDS and those bods at Social Security on Saturday.
It would appear that I've opened up a can of worms with regard to this 'appeals' procedure.
Lowestoft-John (my Personal Adviser) is away for the weekend, and I'm loathe to take advice from all the lefty campaigners I now seem to be surrounded with.

It transpires that I am automatically 'up' for a tribunal.
It's in Birmingham, and if I'm honest, I'm not a big fan.
I once spent an enjoyable weekend at The Belfry near Coventry, but that was in the 1980s and I've been listening to The Archers for too long now.
It would appear I have to fill out this new 6 page document, if I DO NOT wish to proceed with my appeal.
I can't help think that the unionised commies at the GPO have more than a passing interest in this drawn-out correspondence.

So I've decided to go.
I'm involved now, and we didn't rescue the Falklands from the corned beef colonials by being hesistant.
It'll save the cost of another stamp, and I might get the chance to tell these tribunal chappies just what a good job Dave & IDS are doing.
I might even find out what they're really going to do with Clegg, now that he appears to have lost his last marble.

Apparently they do not envisage conducting the interview until at least the 6th of August, so it'll give me time to get a railcard, as I don't fancy re-negotiating the M42. Travel expenses are guaranteed on this one, so I'll book an hotel like before.
I'm also allowed to take a friend, so I think I'll take Derek.
We'll probably visit the Borchester & Ambridge set if we get a spare moment.

They've asked for documents detailing savings, mortgage payments etc.as these will go a long way to proving how disabled I am.
I'll probably give them my phone bill and a copy of my teenage diary from when I was at school.
I might let them have my Observer's Guide to Horses & Ponies as well.
A tribunal requires 'evidence' according to their letter, and I intend to be heavily laden with paper.
They're bound to like that.

HEIGH HO/HI HO, IT'S OFF TO WORK WE GO.....

Had quite a problem with the title of this one.
Wikipedia is down due to some sort of industrial action, probably because of unionised Trots whingeing about their pensions, or freedom of speech.
Managed to Google 'Heigh Ho' and 'Hi Ho', and spent the past three hours counting the amount of results.
I think it's fair to say that 'Heigh Ho' is used by those of us who went to school, and 'Hi Ho' is used by the work-shy YouTube generation.
I will be using 'Heigh Ho' (over 3 million search results) forthwith.

I was at dinner with a bright young filly last year, who managed to persuade me that I should 'appeal' Personal Adviser Lowestoft-John's decision that I was 'fit for work'. It was fairly obvious that this young lady was a pinko, and that she'd never read any other paper than The Guardian in her life, but I gave it some thought whilst ogling her ample cleavage, and thought; if I don't test their capabilities, how can they test mine?

I'd heard several horror stories about people appealing, and subsequently dying, but I wasn't ready to shuffle any coils just yet; not with the prospect of Lowestoft-John finding me a suitable position as a wine-taster/food critic within the year.

So 'appeal' I did, and imagine my delight at receiving an incredibly prompt reply yesterday, from those DWP lackeys Atos, on the very day Dave, IDS and Ed Millitant were discussing the Welfare Reform Bill.
I left the weighty package unopened whilst I caught up on world news with the Mail Online.
Couldn't help feeling rather sorry for old friends Brigadier Giles Rowntree and Lieutenant-Colonel Crawley having to take early retirement, mainly due to that do-gooding Lumley woman. I suppose they'll still direct the odd military campaign from their conservatories in OxShott or Bagshot or wherever it is? (It's not Aldershot - marvellous town now overrun by unemployed Nepalese - terrible business).

So after my mid-morning G&T, I nervously embarked on reading the missive from JobCentrePlus in Belfast, hoping upon hope that they wouldn't put me back on the sick-pay.
I needn't have worried.
My Approved Disabilty Analyst Lesley had found me more than capable for work "and cannot see any reason to change the original decision given".
Luckily I hadn't really given them any reasons.
I listed my medications, attached a letter from my GP, explained how I can always be a little stiff on certain mornings (but this did not stop me enjoying fine wines & restaurant food!)and how I was hopeful that Lowestoft-John would find me a suitable employer very soon.

The rather sad news was that they had now moved the goalposts with regard to when I could start work.
Lesley said "I advise that a return to work could be considered within 18months".
This disappointed me somewhat.
It's obvious that I won't be considered for the Olympic Long-Jump judge now.
I'm unlikely to get the horse-groom job at Her Majesty's Diamond Jubbly celebrations neither.

The 33 page 'findings' (what is it with the Public Sector and trees?) did however highlight things that weren't wrong with me, and I found this reassuring coming from a designated government official.

I AM NOT likely to die within 6 months due to my chronic illness.
As I am male, pregnancy is NOT relevant.
I do NOT have a stoma, or serious problems with evacuating or voiding my bladder or bowels.
And I do NOT have a cognitive impairment or mental disorder that could lead to aggression in the workplace, or have difficulty in chewing or swallowing independently.

With that clean bill of health, I began my letters of application (cc;d of course to Lowestoft-John!).
I started with "Dear Mr Worrall-Thompson......"

R.I.P KIM

Father rang.
Turns out they've increased his Winter Fuel Payment, despite his persistent asking that they didn't.
His argument is that anyone geographically below the M4 motorway requires less heat than that grim northern lot, primarily due to lower winter temperatures, but more specifically due to voting choice.
The WFP was not something we voted for.
Blair and his chamois-socialist lot brought that little sweetener in, and a fat lot of good it did them!

Father has received countless Xmas cards from ex-members of the 49th Armoured Division this year, and it transpires that they also have had an increase in their WFP, despite living it up in Nicosia & Gib!
Tommo, Degsy, Trev and Barry have all agreed to pool their payments, and stick on a bally big beach party around the time of the next General Election.

I too received my annual £10 Xmas bonus from the DWP, but couldn't find anything in Waitrose for under a ruddy tenner, so I sunk a few shandies in the British Legion, and wrote a stern letter to IDS.

The way I see it (and I'm sure Pa would agree), with Iran getting all defensive over its natural resources, and this new fella in charge of what was quite a well organised bunch of Korean chaps, I couldn't help think that if all 2million of us on ESA gave our tenner back to HMG, we could invest in a early warning system, or at least a small tank?
We are all in this together, but it would appear that some of us are a little more privileged than others, at this special time of year.
Crack-dealers & Greggs must be rubbing their hands with glee.

Glad to see Dave is bringing marriage back into fashion.
'Moral neutrality or passive tolerance' won't get this constipated economy running again.
A bloody big bible in every school might do the job though!
Very much looking forward to the Compulsory Church Attendance Bill next spring.

Still no word from Lowestoft John, my Personal Adviser.
Probably has a month off over Xmas to work out how much more pension he's going to get (less WFP and Xmas bonus).

And RIP Kim.
At least you had the decency to go at a sensible age, like most Great Leaders.
No one likes a drain on the state.
There's only so much golf a pensioner can play.

Happy New Year Dwile Flonkers.

IT'S TIME FOR A LEADERSHIP CHANGE

It's Wednesday, and that means only one thing.
Half-day closing.

As per usual, I donned my Hush Puppies and set about hobbling down to the Beccles & District Museum, to avail myself of my weekly fix; the majesty and beauty of the 1632 Shadingfield altar cloth.

And if you've been listening to Radio FiveLive's intelligent wall-to-wall commentary, interspersed with 'Sport, Weather & Travel' every ten minutes, you'll probably have no problem guessing what happened next?
The bally museum was closed!

And why?
Because some snivelling little Trot has politicised the part-time voluntary workers into a collective expression of their dissatisfaction at the hard work that Dave, IDS and Vinny Cable have done over the past 18months.

Pensions?!
They're already in receipt of their bloody pensions, and have been spending them quite happily in the post-office. the garden centre and Rosie's Tearooms for many years!
Like me, most of them will be dead before most NQTs get their first school department.
It's the feckless 'Want Want Want' generation again, stealing eye-pods and helping themselves to EMUs and tuition fees.

I'm all for gay rugby players 'coming out' to the Daily Mail on days like these, but this sort of gerrymandering will only lead to civil unrest, and an overall confusion with regard to museum opening hours.

It's madness.
Bring back Norman Tebbit and hunting with dogs.

Ruddy pinkos.

OCCUPY LOWESTOFT (No. Not really. Lol!)

I'm still in bed.
I have to say, these pills are bloody marvellous.
I can see why the sixties happened and that.

Been listening to that Vine fellow on Radio Two, and although he talks a lot of sense, I think he sometimes takes the moral high-ground with regard to defending stupid people.
If you're constantly getting burgled, move house!
The market's flat enough to do a side-shift, and if like me, you actually need to live in rural Suffolk, sell the Cherokee and downsize.
The winters are getting milder, and the kids are probably old enough to walk to university now.

Anyway.
That's all a bit of a hub-bub and bally hoo.
The real reason for putting pen to paper today, is to thank the Right Honourable Dave Cameron for his recent thoughts on complicit and fraudulent doctors.
According to the Daily Mail, something like 80 or 90% of medical professionals are in cahoots with the bad-back brigade, and the loss to our economy in sicknote man-hours is the price of a small African coup!
Thankfully Dave wants to replace them all with Independent Advisers, something we should've done in 1945.

An Independent Adviser will be answerable to no-one other than the shareholders (and possibly IDS).
There'll be less need for empathy or bedside manner, and more emphasis on getting shirkers to earn their keep, possibly in a lesser role than they're used to, but positively boosting the economy to greater heights than Australia's.
It's important that sickness absence is eradicated from our culture, if we're all to live above our means and in the manner to which we are accustomed.

If a civil servant has to pick asparagus in springtime, more power to his elbow.
If a teacher has to stuff giblets into turkey carcasses, then why not?
An active workforce will not only provide encouragement for future generations, it will also reduce the amount of vacancies for migrant workers.
And the queues at the local health centre will improve too.

Bloody good idea DC.
Next week I will ask my Personal Adviser, John, about applying for these positions.

Not this week though.
Let me just finish off this amitriptyline...........

IDEAS FOR IDS

After yesterday's escapade I find myself bedridden again.
It's the only downside to these marvellous drugs that those boffin chaps at Pfizer and Glaxo keep creating.
The quack says I'm immuno-suppressed, but I've never really taken much advice from a woman.
It would appear however, that if I get coughed on or touched up by the great unwashed, I do seem to inherit their filth rather regularly.
My encounter with the hoi polloi in Lowestoft's JobCentrePlus could only be described as " a lot of ill people with illnesses being ill all over other ill people".
I've no idea what I've contracted but I'm sure it's a symptom of the underclass.

So it got me thinking about this ruddy well-needed shake up of the whole benefits system.
Shirkers and idlers will always embrace a tickly throat, if a session on the sofa with 'Cash In The Attic' and a bag of Haribo are considered convalescing.
This will lead to further unemployment and an economy so far up the Swanee that it moors itself at Thessaloniki.

I propose to Mr Duncan Smith that those receiving income-related ESA (what we used to call the dole before Blair & Brown) go into the JobCentrePlus on one day, and those receiving contribution-based ESA (what we used to call Incapacity Benefit before Clegg & Cable) go into the JobCentrePlus, on an entirely different day.

The work-shy scroungers on the dole all receive FREE prescriptions (as well as dental, eyes & wigs) and therefore have no excuse when poorly.
They should be healthy & at work, or chucking-up their Lidl lunch at home.

Those of us who still have to pay for our prescriptions, seemingly due to paying N.I. subscriptions for many years, should have a one-on-one appointment with our Personal Adviser, who should be medically tested before each interview.
Contracting communicable diseases will not get any of us back to work.
Especially when we can ill afford the multiple £7-40s to combat them.

I commend this to the House, via the Daily Mail Letters page.


NEXT WEEK:
Why Most Americans Have Got It Right
http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/personal-essays/when-youre-not-sick-enough/

Premature In Occupation

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.

WHO WILL RID US OF THESE TURBULENT PRIESTS?

I see the bally church bods are having their ten penn'orth again.

There was a time when bishops knew their place.

Neighbours, Corrie and chessboards were littered with them, but in general they saved their pontificating for the pulpit.

R.Williams should stick to duetting with Nicole Kidman, and keep his trotty nose out of Ian Duncan Smith's affairs.

And what IS their problem?

Of course we should cap weekly benefits at £500.

There's only so many Peperami's one can eat over the course of fifteen Jeremy Kyle shows.

And if you smoked a whole pack of Mayfair every day, you'd still only need £35.

Cider has never been cheaper, and kids should be at school, not having tax-payers' money lavished on them to the tune of a few hundred quid!

If we're all expected to sort out this financial deficit then the work-shy dole bludgers should suffer too.
It's not fair that I can recognise a positive gearshift in socio-economic policy, when the feckless are watching X Factor and doing nothing about improving their status.
We should cap benefits at £60 per week, send all children to boarding school, and supply each & every individual with a Personal Adviser.

We all know the economy is fragile and cuts are needed.

We are all in this together, whether we like it or not.

A friend of mine has not only given up his membership of the golf-club, he has sold all his gear too!

On eBay!

Got quite a pretty penny for it all.

And he bloody loved golf, but the poor fellow is grief-stricken to the point of paralysis.

Perhaps if the jobless spent more time online, and less time in the bookies, they too could do their bit for society.

And if they can't afford the cost of living in London, then ruddy well move!
I've seen how wonderfully cheap housing can be in rural East Anglia.
There's some bloody lovely cottages on the Suffolk coast that would appear to be empty most of the time.
I wouldn't advise telling the landlords you're in receipt of benefits or poor; it's probably best to say you're a freelance poet and you work from home.

And call me cynical, but I notice the bishops of Norwich, Ipswich & St.Edmundsbury are all getting on their soap-boxes about this. I wonder if that has something to do with East Anglia having the largest incremental rent increase year on year (2010/11)?
Caring clergy?
Penny-pinching landlords more like!
It really has come to something when the Church collection plate is being topped-up by recycled taxes.

I'm going to put all of these points to John, my Personal Adviser tomorrow.
I'm sure he's not on £500 a week, and I bet he copes admirably.
I'm hoping we can get all the paperwork out of the way by lunchtime, and then maybe share a round of golf.

I'll head for the hotel once I've watched 'Songs of Praise'........

I HAVE A PERSONAL ADVISER!

On the very day that my appeal period ceased, I received a letter from the DWP informing me that I have an interview with my Personal Adviser next week!
The efficiency of the DWP Capability For Work system is ruddy awe-inspiring!
Well done IDS. Well done C&C. Well done JobCentrePlus.

My Personal Adviser's name is 'John' (as in Osborne or Bull).
I was rather hoping I'd be assigned a young filly, because like it or not, I tend to make more of my physical appearance with regard to the ladies.
But I tapped in 'DWP, Personal Adviser, John' into my personal computer's search engine 'Images' gizmo, and I was pleasantly surprised.
In the photo, I'm not sure which one is John, but both of them look like the sort of go-getting, action type that I crave, and neither of them has a moustache, which I'm finding unappealing on both of the sexes at the moment.

Inspired by Victoria Derbyshire's telephone-in (this morning she is inviting work-shy layabouts to explain why they can't find work), I set about creating an action-plan for next Monday.

I have to get to Lowestoft, so in order to avoid being jiggled, jolted & bruised by the commoners on the X2 bus, I've decided to book into a hotel the night before.
Unfortunately, most hotels on the east coast are closed for the season now, but I was assured by the receptionist at the 'Moon in the Spoon' that I could have a room with a disabled toilet AND coffee-making facilities.
I didn't ask her for a quote, as the DWP have offered to pay all expenses to ensure prompt arrival at appointments. They also offer childcare expenses, but the poorly wife doesn't qualify as a 'child under the age of one' as such, so she'll just have to wait until I get home if she wants her bedpan emptying.
She won't do much in 24hrs.

John wants to discuss all the available job opportunities in the area and which ones would be more suited to me;
about returning to college/university to retrain, 'Permitted Work' (which sounds interesting!) and tax-credits for all of my children.
And if John can't help me, he can then arrange another appointment for me with a Disability Employment Adviser, presumably because the advising that John specialises in, isn't anything to do with jobs or disability.

I have to say that I'm excited about all this.
Xmas really does seem to have come early this year!
But I'm aware that excitement or stress can bring on a flare-up, and I don't want to ruin what seems like the ultimate opportunity to finally get me back to work.

As a consequence, I will be taking a slumber-cocktail of amitriptyline, distalgesics, anti-inflammatories, methotrexate and fluoxetine, and retiring to my bed until Sunday evening.
The wife can do her own bedpan for a bit.
It'll be good training.

Goodnight All!


NEXT WEEK:

Would a hard-labour renaissance be a better incentive for petty-criminals?
and
Why ban smoking in cars when the car itself is the real enemy of asthma?

IAN 'LL FIX IT

Great to hear IDS on the wireless today, doling out priceless motivational talk to the feckless youth of, I dunno;
it sounded like South London (lots of innits & like).

And in the light of Sir Jimmy Saville's passing, I think our lord & saviour could do a lot worse than having a prime-time TV slot, in which he shows the 'yoof' just how easy it really IS to get work.

There was one chap on there saying he couldn't get a bag-packing job at Sainsburys, because of his criminal record, and I thought rightly so!
I certainly don't want my Nectar Point vouchers being stolen by him, whilst I'm spending my £400 ESA on a Xmas shop.
He said he'd been for several interviews.
I bet he hadn't tried applying for a bag-packing job in Lidl or Asda though!

The deadline for my 'appeal' against my capability for work decision is tomorrow.
I'm going to leave it, because as long as we all stay out of the way of the Greeks, the Italians and protesting students, I reckon we'll be out of this double-dip blip by New Year's Eve.

IDS interviewed another chap who sounded a little brighter than the crim ( a lot less demanding 'y'know's ), and decided there & then, that he could have this fella in employment within 3hrs, despite this lad being out of work for 11months.
And I bet he bloody did it too!
Marvellously inspirational man.

If only more people had the protestant work-ethic of Mr Duncan Smith, instead of being work-shy scroungers.
Can he fix it?
Of course he can.
And he won't even charge you.

IAN DUNCAN SMITH WAS ROBBED

My experience with the DWP thus far has been a confusing one.
It's obvious that IDS has had a ruddy good shake-up, and isn't going to let this wonderful country of ours be held to ransom by a bunch of lefties and work-shy dossers.
Only yesterday I had a tele-con with a provincial sounding member of the old-school Job Centres. He sounded so tired and sorry for him, and myself, that I wouldn't be surprised if he was one of Wilson's Labour Exchange lot!
Full of advice on how to work the system, he wearily explained that different outside organisations were dealing with the Coalition Government's cull, and it would be in my interest to get supporting medical evidence if I wished to continue sponging off the state!

Needless to say, I took his name.

I realised today that I pressed the wrong telephone key, and that's why I spoke to an outgoing member of staff in 'Incapacity Benefit'.
No doubt he'll contact his union soon, if he hasn't done so already, and look into options with regard to his over-inflated pension.
Trot.

But happily today I pressed Option 3 (ESA) on my telephone key-pad, and I was transported to a brave new world.
A well-spoken lass dealt with my enquiry abruptly and with no empathy whatsoever.
"What exactly was my problem?" she repeatedly asked.
No shilly-shallying. Straight to the point.
(I took her name also, as I'm rather hoping she may be my 'Personal Adviser')

It's this new breed of Public Sector worker, that I feel will get GB working once again.
Beds back, curtains back, twice around the parade ground and a freezing cold shower before breakfast.

If we can just get that Euro-loving, French-tickling, sausage-hunting Cameron out of office, and get IDS back into the hot-seat, it'll be no more neverending dole queues, and a bad-back brigade that can be thankful they're alive.
God Bless Conservatism!