For the past few months we, Ruth and I, have been battling with the DWP to get our benefits to which we are entitled.
They have so far refused every application.
The DWP will not carry forward an application so we have to fill out a new application form every time. This was to be our fourth application for Income Related ESA. We are told that we have to fill out a new application in case we manage to get vast amounts of money in between applications.
At one point we were refused because R had three jobs! They were all voluntary, all three.
They had not read the form. What a surprise. This misreading put us into a void of bureaucracy and kafkaesque stupidity.
We appealed and made a formal complaint when they failed to tell us that they had refused our last application. I only found out when I 'phoned to check on its progress!
Eventually they conceded and the other week backdated our benefits to June the 15th, the day we first applied for them. The DWP also made a compensation payment of £25 for the inconvenience we had suffered.
So the motto is don't give up.
On another matter, as the days progress I have become less and less interested in things like cinema and theatre and generally entertainment; except for the free television programmes. I switch off things like reviews of films on Friday: especially when the say 'one to see this Saturday night!'. It means little or nothing to me any more.
As the poverty bites I have become less interested in the things I cannot afford; tweets about iphones and apps mean little to me. I have a £9.99 phone from Tesco. It is what I can afford. I tear out the Guardian gig guide as well, there's no point they too distant and expensive.
Even food becomes repetitive and boring is the wrong word, but a cycle of cheaper options: pasta, rice and potatoes. I am losing interest in food too.
I have also developed a cynicism for those damn clodhopping 'Let's make money programme's: Antiques and houses for sale bore me senseless. I am removed from that world now.
Our brave new world revolves around job applications and survival; it sounds dramatic but I can guarantee not a week goes by without a job rejection, or a job being applied for, or a benefit being removed, or adjusted, or enquired about.
Ruth is the breadwinner in our house and the pressure on her is intolerable sometimes.
She is resilient and even she has become cynical towards life.
Poverty twists you. Not only inside but externally, you begin to meet life with a different perspective; one of almost disdain. One of indifference to others' acquisition of all the new gadgets and devices. We have built an indifference to some news stories and things like fashion pages and flash lives; features in the newspapers and on television featuring fashion and 'must buys' now alienate us both. They never were a real part of our world; we have always gone our own way on things. Perhaps I should read some different papers apart from 'quality' rags. A good 'working class' one like the Sun. Like hell.
I think it is also the time that poverty and its burdens take out of your life; the feeling of isolation, the remove from the wider world, that eventually brings you down. Some of this is exaggerated by where we live now; in Cumbria. There is a constant loading of your mind for the things you 'should' have (Horney's: Tyranny Of The Should) which outweigh the reality of what you can have. Virtually nothing.
Ruth keeps applying for jobs but I know that a small piece of her dies on every application; 'knowing' and expecting that the rejection letter will come.
Each day is a struggle to not argue with the other.
Each day is a struggle not to become too despondent. That fails a lot recently.
Each day is a struggle to keep your humour.That fails a lot recently too.
I try to keep mine through tweeting. That fails a lot recently.
They have so far refused every application.
The DWP will not carry forward an application so we have to fill out a new application form every time. This was to be our fourth application for Income Related ESA. We are told that we have to fill out a new application in case we manage to get vast amounts of money in between applications.
At one point we were refused because R had three jobs! They were all voluntary, all three.
They had not read the form. What a surprise. This misreading put us into a void of bureaucracy and kafkaesque stupidity.
We appealed and made a formal complaint when they failed to tell us that they had refused our last application. I only found out when I 'phoned to check on its progress!
Eventually they conceded and the other week backdated our benefits to June the 15th, the day we first applied for them. The DWP also made a compensation payment of £25 for the inconvenience we had suffered.
So the motto is don't give up.
On another matter, as the days progress I have become less and less interested in things like cinema and theatre and generally entertainment; except for the free television programmes. I switch off things like reviews of films on Friday: especially when the say 'one to see this Saturday night!'. It means little or nothing to me any more.
As the poverty bites I have become less interested in the things I cannot afford; tweets about iphones and apps mean little to me. I have a £9.99 phone from Tesco. It is what I can afford. I tear out the Guardian gig guide as well, there's no point they too distant and expensive.
Even food becomes repetitive and boring is the wrong word, but a cycle of cheaper options: pasta, rice and potatoes. I am losing interest in food too.
I have also developed a cynicism for those damn clodhopping 'Let's make money programme's: Antiques and houses for sale bore me senseless. I am removed from that world now.
Our brave new world revolves around job applications and survival; it sounds dramatic but I can guarantee not a week goes by without a job rejection, or a job being applied for, or a benefit being removed, or adjusted, or enquired about.
Ruth is the breadwinner in our house and the pressure on her is intolerable sometimes.
She is resilient and even she has become cynical towards life.
Poverty twists you. Not only inside but externally, you begin to meet life with a different perspective; one of almost disdain. One of indifference to others' acquisition of all the new gadgets and devices. We have built an indifference to some news stories and things like fashion pages and flash lives; features in the newspapers and on television featuring fashion and 'must buys' now alienate us both. They never were a real part of our world; we have always gone our own way on things. Perhaps I should read some different papers apart from 'quality' rags. A good 'working class' one like the Sun. Like hell.
I think it is also the time that poverty and its burdens take out of your life; the feeling of isolation, the remove from the wider world, that eventually brings you down. Some of this is exaggerated by where we live now; in Cumbria. There is a constant loading of your mind for the things you 'should' have (Horney's: Tyranny Of The Should) which outweigh the reality of what you can have. Virtually nothing.
Ruth keeps applying for jobs but I know that a small piece of her dies on every application; 'knowing' and expecting that the rejection letter will come.
Each day is a struggle to not argue with the other.
Each day is a struggle not to become too despondent. That fails a lot recently.
Each day is a struggle to keep your humour.That fails a lot recently too.
I try to keep mine through tweeting. That fails a lot recently.
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