Poor Man About Town

I had only two quid left, I had to raid my personal poor box again - sifting the silver from the brown, I found 20 x 5p coins (20 shillings in old money) equals a pound - this got me another day's bus pass. Must get a monthly when I get paid. I still have two tins of ministrone soup in work, so I scrounged a couple of slices of bread to have the soup. Then I contacted the bank to attempt negotiate something that will not make me so impoverished towards the end of the month. After loads of padding around the key pads I got put through to the call centre in some exotic place where the call centre operatives earn about 1/8th of my salary but live the life of Posh Spice and David Beckham. I was given another phone number to ring which turned out to be a fob off (fuck off). Rung the bank again, exotic call centre with that Byzantine approach to dealing with customers. More waiting and more holding with incredibly trashy music which was really getting on my nerves. After about an hour, I was told I was told that I must go to my branch to renegotiate things!. Why the fuck did they not tell me that in the first place. My bank has made thousands out of me and other poor saps, I hope I win the lottery and then I'll show them. I hope my bank goes the way of Northern Rock - bastards.

Labels: banking, byzantine, Call Centres, poor, poverty

Because of impoverishment, I am going back to my student days diet - lentils, curries, potatoes, carrots, peas, pepper sauce, cheap meat (no more chicken - although very cheap, I will not touch it on moral grounds). I feel as if I living in World War Two Britain!

Labels: diet, impecunity, poverty

Being skint has led to a vast improvement in my dog-end collection. Rather than throwing the cigarette ends away, I have now resorted to collecting them. When I run out of "hard cash", I am sure they will come in handy.

Labels: dog ends, poverty, smoking

Being in quite impecunious circumstances, I am having difficulty in managing my finances. There is yet more month at the end of my pay. Bad news came from the council demanding its full Council Tax - it seems that calculations are to blame. I have got into arrears and the Council is demanding its full-whack.

I phoned the Council, a Nigerian accent did not so much greet me but admonished me for getting myself into this shit. I had some discussion with the voice - she told me that I had around £200 "hard cash" - she kept on using "hard cash". She offered to set up a direct debit for me there and then. I had lost track of the number of council tax payments I had made. I told her that I would come back to her. The gruff voice responded well begrudged affirmation - this felt like a threat - if I did not cough up the money I would be dragged off to some privatised calabouse in Downtown Lagos until I come to my senses and pay the council the money owed to it.

Labels: Council Tax, impecunity, poverty

I checked my bank account today, the figures told a pretty horrible story - I'm skint. When skint, the bills start to wash around your head like dirty clothes in a tumble drier. I paid the council tax. I paid the rent. What about the holiday? Got to pay for that, the kids expect that. Get the credit card out. The current account, however, indicates that I have too much month at the end of my pay.

Things could be much worse. I heard that repossession of homes is up 30% on last year, this means that numerous people have lost their place they call home. It's not good - these people are struggling and surely there is a better way than this property owning bullshit to provide homes for people.

By unusual coincidence, we got "The Pursuit of Happiness" out of the library. Ever since the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, I have always had a soft spot for Will Smith - cocky but funny, even in "I Robot", it comes peeping through; but he carries his films extremely well. In this film, however, he plays a completely different ball game with a different set of rules. A man, Chris Gardner, and his family living in impecunious circumstances, having to flog medical equipment to survive. We see his marriage break up and we see both he and his son having to sleep rough and live in motels and doss-houses. He plays this part completely straight and with such passion that I started to live in his shoes (or lack of one - see the film). The film has lifted my despondent mood. Great stuff , Will - you are what acting is all about! Getting people to live your character's life.

Labels: films, finance, movies, poverty, property, repossessions, Will Smith

A callv centre called me tonight; the operative told me that she was from Supreme Home Solutions and that she wanted to ask me one question - this been "How would like to improve your home"; she might as well have asked me "How would you like to improve your spaceship?". I told her that I can't improve my home as I privately rent it.

I did not want to be rude or abusive to the call centre operative, they have a living to earn and they are only human at the end of the day. I remember reading an article where an operative becomes so worn down by the abuse of recipients of unsolicited calls that it can affect his self-esteem.

It is quite odd, however, that the commercial consciousness has become so geared that virtually all the market is dominated by home owners. People who rent, it seems, are a pariah, lepers, who can spread the dreaded disease of being poor.

Labels: call centre, home owners, market, pariah, poor, poverty, private rented, rent, unsolicited calls