Friday 15 May 2015

Historical, hysterical

I have been ill again this week and the burly Welshman has been an absolute saint, doing the school run before work in the mornings, staying over at Axis Towers at night to look after everyone, and generally being completely brilliant. The Axis enjoy walking to school with him, as he'll tolerate a level of nonsense that I firmly refuse to. Yesterday morning, however, the Welshman nipped back before going to work, looking slightly perturbed.

I asked him what was wrong; he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Finally, he said, 'I think you need to have a word with Kong about Charity Day.' Charity Day is next Friday at school and the children have been invited to dress up as a famous figure from history. The Axis are all agog at this, their love of bloody warriors from the past writ large thanks to Horrible Histories. I'd already talked Kong out of going as Caligula, so was hoping for the best.

It was not to be. Apparently, on the walk to school, the Axis were discussing who they wanted to be for Charity Day. The Kong sidled up to the burly Welshman and said 'Er...I can't go as Hitler, can I? That would be wrong, wouldn't it?' The Welshman, slightly startled, assured Kong vehemently that yes, it would be wrong, and that many people might be offended by that, as Hitler was a very evil man...Kong nodded, pondersomely, then rejoindered: 'Do you think anyone will go as Hitler?'

As I reached for the phone directory to look up 'child psychologists (specialising in miniature dictators)' it occurred to me that actually, Kong's sense of right and wrong was beginning to implant itself (not before time, IMO) and that this was just part of it. I talked to him and his brother later and was satisfied that they are not plotting to take over the world. Instead, they will be going to their Church of England school in this truly Tory area dressed as Charles Darwin and Che Guevara. Win-win, boys.

Of course, this is only possible because we already own the clothes needed to make convincing costumes. As it's a prosperous area, a tiny minority will be coming in in the most ridiculous, wear-once-and-destroy outfits that cost more than my yearly clothing budget.

The inconsistency of my income makes spending a total nightmare. I've written before about my gratitude at living in a country that supports us when the chips are down. What's less edifying, however, is the hoops you have to jump through to get it, and the severe lack of competence displayed, the kind that would get you the sack working in any payroll department.

This is how it works when you're poor: your income comes from several different streams and you have to fight to justify your receipt of each them, continually. In my case, that's work/bursary, child benefit, child tax credit, and housing benefit. Altogether, these make up just about enough to live on. We don't take holidays abroad, rarely buy clothes, and shop in Aldi. We're frugal, I cook almost everything from scratch. If, like me, you've been foolish enough to take out loans in the past to help with your postgraduate education, then you have to negotiate with the bank when, suddenly, someone leaves your life and you are unable to pay as previously agreed. If you happen to work somewhere where you do the same hours every month, the company is stable, and you know how much you will be paid, brilliant. If, however, you work somewhere brilliant, but reliant on funding by capricious commissioners, the amount you get paid and the time you get paid every month will be different.

It's impossible to use a calculator to get an accurate picture of what will be paid to you and when. How can you budget for bills and food responsibly like you're supposed to - like you want to? If you phone up and ask for a breakdown of how payments are calculated, you are refused. Instead, my local authority sends out random automated letters every two weeks or so that make little sense. I'm no slouch, I used to handle big budgets at work and understand systems well. But it is a nonsense to me.

At least tax credits and housing benefits are now linked. Hooray, I thought, they can talk to each other and save some time! Not so. Instead, when you complete your renewal form in July, HMRC (for it is they) inform housing benefit that you have done so. Housing benefit then freeze your payments until they've processed your tax credit renewal. Last year it took them 10 weeks to do this. 10 weeks with no rent money, followed a couple of months later by another seven when I left my job to retrain.

It's surprising how much time you spend on the phone to people, knowing full well nothing is going to get sorted unless you jump up and down about it for a good six weeks. NHS Bursaries have consistently messed up my profile since September. For some reason they keep thinking the Axis have gone up in smoke and therefore they don't incur childcare costs of several hundred pounds a month.

With all these services, the same thing happens. You ring, and talk to someone, they promise to sort it out. They don't. You ring again, someone else says they don't understand why it hasn't been sorted, and promises to sort it out. They don't. You feel desperate and, if you're me, weaselly and guilty for depending on the state in the first place. You take out a debt to cover the missed payment. The interest on that, and all the others, accrues wildly. You stop sleeping at night.

Recently I heard someone who works full time and earns what would be a prince's ransom in my world complaining about people on benefits. 'I'm a mug,' they said. 'I spend all this time working and paying tax, for people on benefits to sit around doing nothing.' It's a gripe many of us will have heard before. No, they're not doing nothing. Most people I know are working and claiming benefits because the work doesn't pay well enough. With the rise of zero hour contracts, that's only getting worse. And a life dependent on the state is not pleasant. There is no financial security. There is the constant fear and anxiety that suddenly, there will be no money in your account and the rent will be due and the children will be hungry. There is the knowledge that there is nothing you can do about it because jobs that are flexible and pay well are anathema when your children are at primary school.

Before the children, I worked full time, I worked hard. I paid taxes. In fact, apart from two lots of maternity leave, I've always worked and paid tax, and been happy to do it. The longest I've been unemployed in my life is three weeks, and that's a total. I've never been unfortunate enough to have to claim Jobseeker's Allowance, or Income Support, or any of the illness-related benefits, but I've heard friends tell how demoralising the process is. I've worked in social care and welfare for nearly 15 years, dealing with some of the most troubled families in the city at times. In all that time, I can only think of one person I met who I would have said should have been working instead of claiming benefits. I heard she's been done for fraud, now, anyway, so the system caught up with her, and sharpish.

Look, we get it. The state supports us, so we should be grateful. We are grateful, truly. But you don't get to demoralise us, play havoc with our lives with no explanation, and treat us like something you stepped on. We might be down now, but we will get back up, and sooner if you don't destroy us while we're down here. The effort of hiding all this from the Axis is immense, but letting children worry is wrong, and I want my little Darwin and Guevara to have a childhood free from worry and full of laughing, playing, discovery and joy. I want them to grow up to be happy, fulfilled and sucessful.

How else are they gonna pay for my fancy retirement home?!


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