Showing posts with label Banking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Banking. Show all posts

Wednesday, 5 March 2014

R.A.I.N.E.


I did write this once, ages ago, but lost everything but the first couple of hundred words and had to start again. Second time around came out a little better:

R.A.I.N.E.

Scene: Any office, anywhere, ever.

Tony: F2. F3. F2. N

Grace: M?

Tony: No, N.

Grace: Ok.

Tony: Then R. F2. shift F2. F5. And enter. And there you have it, that's your product number.

Grace: BCH847391

Tony: Write it down. You’ll need it in a bit.

Grace: What and I have to do that for every case?

Tony: You do.

Grace: I'll never remember all that.

Tony: Refer to your process flow. But trust me, month from now it'll be so natural you'll wonder how you ever lived without this stuff.

Grace: H'm. I remain to be convinced.

Tony: Are you musical at all, Grace? Do you play an instrument?

Grace: Trumpet.

Tony: Great stuff. 'Cause what I always say when I get to train musicians such as yourself is this: Think of it like playing a musical scale. Learn the notes and you'll be fine.

Grace: Right. Bit of hippy really aren’t you?

Tony: What me? Not with my finally shaved scalp.

Grace: Yeah but it was long once. Wore a lot of hemp clothing did you? Got a lot of stoner friends I bet.

Tony: Used to. Their all tied down now.

Grace: You not married?

Tony: Not no more. Divorced.

Grace: I'm sorry.

Tony: Don't be. Best thing that ever happened to me. I get to do what I want now. Get to  stay up late. With whoever I want.

Grace: Anyway, what's next?

Tony: Well now you have the product number, you need the customer number.

Grace: And that’s where?

Tony: Tootie.

Grace: It’s where now?

Tony: On Tootie. You’ll hear it called the Toots system, but I call it Tootie ‘cause it always reminds me of Tootie Fruitti.

Grace: Tootie Fruitti? What’s that, like a gay website?

Tony: No, it’s a song by Little Richard.

Grace: Who?

Tony: Elvis covered it.

Grace: Elvis. I’ve heard of him.

Tony: Heard of him? Heard of him? What are they teaching you in school these days?

Grace: Sorry, I must have been at the dentist’s the day we did granddad music in history, granddad.

Tony: Cheeky get.

Grace: Do you even own an Ipod? Bet you’re still on CDs.

Tony: CDs? Hell no. I’m still on vinyl.

Grace: Vinyl? Mercy. It’s 2014 y’know, not 1814.

Tony [laughs]: 1814, when do you think records were invented exactly?

Grace: Before I was born. That’s all I needs to know.

Tony: The day before yesterday?

Grace: What? Oh, very funny.

Tony: So when were you born?

Grace: I cannot believe you said that. You don’t ask a lady her age.

Tony: If I meet one, I won’t.

Grace: What? I don’t get it.

Tony: It was a joke. Never mind. Sorry, you just look young enough not to mind saying.

Grace: I’m 27.

Tony: Right. Well wait until you’re my age. Wait until you have kids of your own. Then you’ll see. Your kids will take the piss out of everything you think is cool now.

Grace: That’ll never happen.

Tony: Happens to us all, Grace.

Grace: Nah.

Tony: Yes.

Grace: Oh my god, shut up talking. Where’s this Toots?

Tony: Toots. I don’t know, going with the herd, how disappointing.

Grace: Excuse me?

Tony: Nothing, I’m only messing. Go to Start:

Grace: Right.

Tony: All Programs

Grace: Yup.

Tony: Network Programs

Grace: Right.

Tony: Toots.

Grace: Uh huh.

Tony: Toots Start Up

Grace: Jesus.

Tony: And there, click that icon there.

Grace: This one.

Tony: Yes.

Grace: Ok.

Silence.

Tony: It takes a while. Cardiff server.

Grace: Right.

Tony [shouts]: Phil. Hey Phil. You playing five-a-side after? Cool. Meet ya at Astroturf. What? [laughs] Ha ha, yeah. See ya later pal.

Grace: What was that about?

Tony: What?

Grace: That look.

Tony: What? Oh nothing.

Grace: Was that about me?

Tony: About you? No.

Grace: Better not be.

Tony: Get Little Miss Self-Important here.

Grace: I don’t fuck dirty old men.

Tony: Good to know.

Grace: So tell your pervy friend to keep his eyes to himself, yeah.

Tony: System’s loaded.

Grace: It wants a password. What’s...

Tony: Password123.

Grace: Wow, really keeping security tight.

Tony: S’only the customer’s details on Tootie. Nothing to do with the company, like they could give a fuck. Sell half of this shit to other companies as it is.

Grace: Now what?

Tony: Option 2.

Grace: Ok.

Tony: Er, then 3. 4. And 5.

Grace: It wants the product code. Wait, I have that. I wrote it down. Here we go. BCH847391.

Tony: Hey, I think she’s getting the hang of it.

Grace: Don’t patronise me. Right, the customer code is 1138946.

Tony: Right it down.

Grace: I’ll never remember this.

Tony: Refer to your process flow. I’m just here to take you through it a couple of times.

Grace: What and then I’m on my own?

Tony: In this place you’re always on your own. That’s why they tell you refer to your process flow. It’s a mantra 'round here. Saves them from having to take responsibility for anything. You fuck up it’s your fault for not referring to your process flow. And keep checking your emails, cause they like to change the process flow regular just to screw with you.

Grace: That sucks.

Tony: It’s the sign of a failed organisation, yes.

Grace: Now what?

Tony: So finally, we need load up the R.A.I.N.E. system.

Grace: Rain? Reminds me of Rhianna [hums Umbrella].

Tony: Always makes me think of Purple Rain by Prince.

Grace: Prince, now I’ve...

Tony: Heard of him?.

Grace: Know I mean I’ve actually heard him. My big sister. She lurves her some Prince. And I love my big sister. Prince is awesome.

Tony: Wow, see this? [makes noise of an elevator or something being raised] This is my estimation of you going up.

Grace: Thanks.

Tony: Welcome.

Grace: Still not sleeping with you though.

Tony: Y’know in my day it was considered polite for a woman to wait for a man to proposition her before she told him to shove it.

Grace: When was that? 1814?

Tony: Same year the gramophone was invented, yes. And anyway, you’re old enough to be my daughter. If I’d had you when I was at school. That sounds bad. Can I take that back?

Grace: I know what you mean. You got any kids, Tony?

Tony: A son. Tony, Junior.

Grace: H’m, imaginative. How old’s he?

Tony: 18.

Grace: You not get on?

Tony: Doesn’t want to know me. Not since the divorce.

Grace: Ah, I’m sure it’ll pass. I didn’t want to know my parents when I was that age. Couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there and off to uni.

Tony: Same.

Grace: Well then. Give him a couple of years, he’ll come around.

Tony: Ya think?

Grace: I did.

Tony: Me too

Grace: Well then.

Tony: Thank you Grace. I think you’ll get on well here. And that’s not a come on.

Grace: I never said a word.

Tony: Most people don’t last five minutes here. You either have to be tough or old and desperate enough not to quit. You seem tough enough that you’ll go far.

Grace: Thanks.

Tony: Welcome.

Grace: So where is this Rain system?

Tony: Right, well it’s another trek through subfolders I’m afraid.

Grace: Ok. Lead on.

Tony: Ok, so, start, then All Programs

Grace [humming Purple Rain]: Yup.

Tony: System Programs. Leeds Server. Now Financial...

Fade out.

Get it done.


Monday, 24 February 2014

Making Mistakes

Shorter post today. Enjoy.

Making Mistakes

"A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery."
          James Joyce, Ulysses

George Orwell states in Nineteen Eighty-Four that “the best way to keep a secret is to hide it from oneself.” Which is bollocks, right? The best way to hide a secret, as we all know, is to write that secret down, leave it on the mantelpiece or coffee table, go for a piss and then come back and try and find it.

It can’t be done, because the mind is as mischievous as it is treacherous and so replaces the memory of the thing searched for with some unpleasant image, like a large tax bill or a picture of Boris Johnson in just his pants and socks, and so we skip over the form of the desired object time and time again, even when it is starting us in the face.

This works well for drug dealers or spies. Keep a list of your contacts in a little black book in plain view on the sideboard. Saves you having to remember anything incriminating. Then when the police or intelligence services break the door down demanding names, all you have to is get them to help you look for the book. Bingo! They are quickly co-opted into a shared sense of blindness for the thing searched for and desired.

I’m being factious of course (it’s a skill), but it’s a source a continual fascination to me the way the mind works or doesn’t work. We all make mistakes, it is after all the way that evolution works, through errors in the duplication process copying strands of genetic material. Some errors are beneficial to progress, others disastrous. One of the greatest errors in the public’s perception of science is in misunderstanding the phrase, ‘survival of the fittest’. It doesn’t mean the fittest in the sense of the most well-toned, or even the sexiest (there’s that factiousness again), but in the sense of the most well suited to survive in an ever changing environment. Today you may be top of the food chain, the savviest with current technology, the richest economy, but who knows what next week will bring. Adaption is as much about serendipity and making mistakes as it is about forward planning. Without mistakes, we’d all still be a pool of slime under a rock somewhere.

One of my greatest weaknesses is my ability to proofread my own work. I still find typos in posts on this blog that I wrote five years ago or more. It’s one of the reasons why I didn’t survive long in banking (aside from the danger to my mortal soul). Banks externalise all mistakes to their own staff, the public, the public purse, anyone but themselves. The kind of errors that in the public sector or less carcinogenic elements of the private sector would simply be regarded as part of human nature, in banking are instead treated like the worst crimes imaginable. It’s the principle of judging others by your own standards. Put the date in the wrong format, miss out the county on an address, call someone Ms instead of Miss and you’ll be treated like you were the one who mis-sold the PPI policy in the first place. By laying the blame for mistakes squarely at the feet of their own staff, banks leave much to chance and it’s no surprise they are still screwing people over and engaging in toxic practices, even to this day.

I jumped before I was pushed, but I’m glad I jumped when I did. As a writer, it was a useful experience and I gained some valuable insights, but only in the same way as I would if I’d spent a year with the Taliban. Yet I factiously comfort myself with the knowledge that my ability to make simple mistakes does at least single me out as a powerhouse of evolution. Get things spot on 100% of the time and you may have a glittering career in banking ahead of you, but it’s also probably best if you don’t breed at any point. You’d only be diluting the gene pool.

People will sometimes offer up a prayer to St Anthony, the patron saint of lost things, when looking for something they’ve misplaced. As an atheist it is all too easy to deride this type of behaviour, because no matter what we atheists might like to think, atheism is a cult, filled with its own unique set of prejudices just like any other religion. Scientifically speaking, the appeal to an external power definitely does work, not because St Anthony or God necessarily exist, but simply because the process removes ownership of the problem from the domain of the mischievous mind to some unseen third person. Like with banking, externalise the problem and it ceases to be your concern and you’ll soon find you find your watch/wallet/car keys/phone.

It’s the same as when people say, “Look for something else, you’ll soon find it.” Drug dealers and spies, be aware that you should under no circumstances offer your unwelcome guests tea or coffee, or ask them for any assistance in the kitchen. One quick fumble through kitchen cupboards looking for the sugar is enough to dissolve the cloak of invisibility surrounding that little black book on the sideboard quicker than you can say one lump or two.

I don’t really have an ending for this piece, so instead I will close by saying that the writer has made eight deliberate mistakes. Can you spot them all?

Get it done.


Wednesday, 8 January 2014

Parallels

Continuing an established trend for late blog, early blog, here's today's bitter short edition.

Parallels

Y’know, when I look at the state of the world, the omnishambles that is Iraq, the images of children born in Fallujah without fully developed brains or no head or with multiple arms sprouting out of each other like the branches on a tree because of the amount of depleted uranium that has been left to infect that town; when I see that no-one at HSBC was sent to jail for laundering drug money, nor no-one from BP in jail for the Deep Water Horizon disaster; when I see ex US service personnel forced, homeless, on to the streets as America’s military budget increases to engulf 57% of total government spending, or read the British government’s own statistics, which state that 10,000 additional disabled people died from heart attack, suicide and neglect in the first 10 months of means testing by ATOS, or that £1.2 million was wasted on a public funeral for Margaret Thatcher (despite this contravening the law on the glorification of terrorism), when there isn’t enough money to provide Job Centre staff with things like Post-It notes or their clients with plastic wallets for their dole booklets; when I see Dick Cheney and Tony Blair walking free upon this Earth, when there are now more African-Americans in prison for trivial offenses than were enslaved at the time of the outbreak of the American Civil War, where peaceful protesters are tear gassed on streets the world over and the NSA and GCHQ spy on citizens in their own homes; where a man’s right to own and operate an assault weapon is sacrosanct, but a woman’s right to do what she wants with her own body must be abrogated at all costs; where socialism is a sin and democracy divine, so long as you never, ever, under any circumstances, try to enforce its principles; where the most corrupt, least capable govern and where the one most vociferously waving the flag is invariably the most traitorous of all; when I see this and so much more, I can only come to the darkly funny, geekily bleak conclusion that we must be living in the version of events where George Bailey was never born. Or the version of ‘Back to the Future Part II’ where Marty McFly never gets the sports almanac back from Biff. Or maybe this is the Mirror Universe in Star Trek and somewhere out in the cosmos there is a good version of Earth, where things worked out for the better. Because I can’t, in all consciousness, accept that this is the best we can do. So we need to seek out George, Marty, Kirk, or, more likely, some female equivalent, ‘cause that would seem more appropriate, right, in an alternate universe where equality actually exists, and help them do what they need to do; restore the timeline, reset everything to zero, wake up from whatever nightmare or hallucination it is that we’re currently living through. With even more heart than ever, I sign off with the usual words…

Get it Done.



Sunday, 5 January 2014

Ad Jamming


In today's post our hero rails against the iniquity of advertising.

Ad Jamming

https://www.adbusters.org/content/product-you
I hate it when people try to sell me shit. I’m also very stubborn. If you ring me trying to hock double glazing or anti-virus software, I will boycott your company forever. Zero tolerance. It’s the only language they understand.

I go out of my way to avoid advertising. I hardly watch anything on television these days that isn’t either on the BBC or recorded for the express purpose of fast forwarding through corporate litter. Even on the rare occasion when I’m forced to watch a commercial channel live, a book and the mute button are on permanent stand-by. Ad breaks are the cosmos telling you that you need to read more.

Even when I go to the cinema, I prefer to go alone these days so not to appear rude when keeping my mp3 player going all the way through the Pearl and Dean bit (a reference which demonstrates how long it’s been since I paid attention to anything before the BBFC certificate).

All of which is fine. With the advent of DVD and Blue Ray, TiVo and Sky+, Netflix and Love Film, it’s very easy to avoid the commercials that clutter traditional mediums. It’s a personal choice for which you aren’t judged.

The same cannot be said online. Here a few pieces of litter, an occasional bad smell, are replaced by something approximating the North Pacific Gyre: Casino pop-ups and five cylinder YouTube pre-ads, with a side order of McDonalds’ offers blinking away out of the corner of your eye, a swirling mass of rotting matter and non-degradable carcinogens that will probably still be broadcasting into inter-stellar space long after we’ve killed every living thing on the planet.

It’s a captive market and if there’s one thing I hate more than people trying to sell me shit, it’s being made to endure them whether I like it or not. I’m stubborn, likesay, which is why I use ad blocking software wherever and whenever I surf the internet. It doesn’t take care of everything, but it does get rid of 95% of pop ups, side ads, even the scheduled, captive breaks enforced by most iplayers. Like hill walking, solid surfaces of earth and stone blocking out the incessant motorway drone. Bliss.

Fast forward through the break on a recorded episode of ‘The Daily Show’ or ‘Game of Thrones’ and you don’t receive passive-aggressive messages from Rupert Murdoch or Richard Branson telling you that  they rely on advertising revenue to make a profit. You frequently here this online though, usually from companies that are already quite big (to name them here would be counter-productive to the point of this article, as would saying which ad jamming software I use).

The usual resolution of the petulant displays is, hey, subscribe to our service and you’ll never see advertising ever again. Which is blackmail. And a declaration of war. Here’s my counter offer: If I don’t know who you’re whoring from then I don’t know which companies to boycott. If you’re going to make me pay attention to the Johns you turn tricks for then you can be certain that I’ll be adding their names to my list. A list I always check twice (yes, just like Santé Claus).

Which isn’t to say I don’t sympathise to a degree. I have, on occasion, been guilt tripped by a scientific journal. Not enough to turn off the software, but enough to empathise with their predicament. Our current economic is unfair, of course it is, any system where Hedge Fund Managers get paid more than doctors, musicians or scientists clearly has skewed priorities. That doesn’t mean we should simply submit to the insanity of it all, but fight back in however small a way.

The true extent of our skewed priorities shine through when you consider our attitude towards athletes. In the general melee that surrounded the build up to the London Games 2012, I noticed that the British tend to treat their athletes the same way they treat their soldiers. Apply a few meaningless epithets and it offsets the need to do anything to actually help them. Call someone a hero and it negates you from the responsibility of financially or emotionally supporting them. Call someone a star, an ambassador, and you need feel no guilt at seeing them selling themselves to some shampoo company to make ends meet. Admire someone’s bravery at sailing single handed around the world and it washes out the bad taste occasioned in the mouth by some DIY company’s gaudy font plastered all over her sails.

There was time, in my youth, that I looked forward to the Olympics, summer and winter alike. Not in many years. To have to sit through endless endorsements for Budweiser, Pepsi, McDonalds and all the other companies that have no place within a thousand miles of a sports stadium is more than I can bare. I think the IOC may be one of the most despicable organisations on the face of the planet. I mean, not only is its defining image, the Olympic torch, something that was introduced by the Nazis in 1936, but spectators are banned from drinking or eating anything not sold on the premises by the usual purveyors of obesity, heart disease and domestic violence. That’s a dictatorship in my book.

The principled corruption of the IOC is symptomatic of our entire culture. On the occasions that I’m flicking past adverts, I usually catch sight of Amazon flogging something. Amazon pay little or no tax in this country, treat their employees like medieval surfs, yet their operations put strain on our transport and energy infrastructures. Power stations brownout, tarmac cracks under the articulated weight and the cost of rebuild and repair is outsourced back to the consumer. Hey, you know the 3 quid you saved on the new John Bishop DVD? Turns out you’ll have to pay it back eventually. Comes with compound interest too.

Personally I think we should ban all adverts, at least at the cinema and on TV, and replace them with government endorsements of the companies that contribute the most in tax during the previous financial quarter. It could be broken down into four tax brackets, with national and multinational companies getting the prime time spots. Smaller and medium sized firms would make up the late night schedule, as they do now, with a handful of the juicier slots decided by lottery. Give smaller firms a chance to grow and compete.

These endorsements would still have a artistic budget and a creative director (the Don Drapers of the world subsumed by the civil service), but advertising exposure would be based upon merit, rather than the aggressive marketing of shit you don’t need.

Tax revenue calculation would be offset by any social and environmental damage caused by the company. If Shell contributed £10billion in taxes but shot its petrochemical load all over the Severn Estuary, then headlines saying what a bunch of polluting douche bags they are should be the only exposure they get until the cleanup has finished. At least then the oil industry might be inspired to actually finish cleaning up, not just until ten seconds after the news crews had packed up and driven away.

You have probably noticed the comparisons of advertising to litter in this article. The simile however is apt. Advertising is the polystyrene container thrown on the floor by the fast food consumer. Except we don’t even get to experience that polyunsaturated, transfat high that Hedge Fund Managers and oil executives experience on a daily basis before the inevitable cocaine-induced heart attack. All we get is a pile of garbage towering over us that we lack the money or resources to have taken away. As consumers, the only thing we consume is the effluent being constantly sprayed all over us from above. Killing us by degrees.

Fight back. Use ad blocking software, use the mute button, use the Pearl and Dean bit to catch up with friends and family. Apathy changes nothing and whilst it might seem like a small step to actively turn away from advertising, it is at least a step in the right direction.

Get it done.


Tuesday, 6 August 2013

Alt Take


A General, All Purpose, Omni-Directional, Jazz-Rant, Expressing My Dissatisfaction On a Number of Matters of Current Importance

[Alternate Take]

Any idea, however brilliant, epoch making, or profound, has a half life, a period over which it becomes less relevant.

Any idea, however brilliant or epoch making, can become irrelevant over millennia or milliseconds, but so long as the arrow of time points forwards, the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics must be obeyed.

An idea may be brilliant, but ideas get old.

Or they evolve. Look at imaginary numbers. The square root of minus 1. An impossible number. A mathematical curiosity, nothing more. Then the dawning of the digital age and it turns out that this seemingly redundant branch of mathematics is the key to the kinds of data compression needed to download data at the speeds we've been experiencing in recent years. So, every time you download a podcast or stream a TV show online, you're using imaginary numbers, ironically, to simplify the types of calculation your computer is required to perform. It's a healthy advert in favour of research for research's sake.

Fifteen years ago, when I was an astrophysics undergraduate, theories about superstrings and hyper dimensional space were at the fringes of scientific thought and broadly ridiculed by the mainstream. Today, superstring and hyper dimensional space are the mainstream, and Michio Kaku, author of 'Hyperspace', the book I was reading as I started university, is a household name.

Newer, more relevant information becomes available. What we take to be true today turns out to be nonsense tomorrow. Yet what remains entrenched in our psyche and our cultural identity can seem like a marvel. Some ideas are spellbinding. They seem to be doing most good usually when doing most harm.

A few weeks ago I was watching something on television. I forget what it was, but the chairman of RBS was being interviewed. During the interview, he uttered the immortal line that I have heard repeated at regular intervals throughout my life:

Capitalism may not be perfect, but it's the best system we have.

Surely 'the best system that we have' would demonstrate a little better common sense than we've seen in recent years?

In the last twelve months, I've seen something of the top of society and something of the bottom. Working PPI claims for a bank, I got to see how a bank can mishandle the mishandling of its PPI mis-selling. I've blogged about this in the past (here). However, I recently heard that the Financial Ombudsman's Service upheld 86% of all complaints they've received about the bank I worked for, so it really is worth taking matters all the way. It also costs them money.

(incidentally, does it strike anyone else as a coincidence that the government is talking about re-privatising  RBS and Lloyds TSB, right as their PPI projects are coming to an end? - I wonder how much that has cost the public purse, the government said it wouldn't cost us a penny, so I'm guessing £billions. It's something to think about.)

There are people, mostly in the north of England, who take the piss out of George Orwell for moving to more squalid lodgings when he was writing 'The Road to Wigan Pier'. Yet what else was he supposed to do? He was writing a book about poverty, what writer worth the name wouldn't want to see life lived at its most extreme? Of course Orwell did that, it's why he's remembered today and why it's gone three in the afternoon and you're still sitting in your pants.

Also, this is to ignore the tradition out of which Orwell was writing. Orwell's great influence was 'The People of the Abyss', Jack London's report on the conditions in the East End slums at the beginning of the 20th century. London had come to the English capital that shares his name to report on a conference. The conference was subsequently cancelled and London found himself wandering among the East End and moving into the area to write his great work of anthropology. Both Orwell's 'The Road to Wigan Pier' and 'Down and Out in Paris in London' were written with that same dedication to research.


I've always liked to kid myself that I'm the Jack London of office work (if Jack London had mainly worked in the North West of England). I always take mental notes on my surroundings, whatever sector I end up working in, for recall and use later. Six years ago I could get a phone call on Friday and be in a job Monday for anything from a day to three years and always be sure of finding something else. Since the recession, the public sector has shrunk and what few jobs there are now involve going through tortuously tedious competency based interviews, which are designed to ensure middle of the road types, less likely to go walkabout to another job, costing the organisation further recruiting costs.

So I'm struggling to find a job, but since I'm in the area, I've been taking notes. For a start, trying to get housing benefit has been a Kafkaesque journey through the halls of bureaucracy. Four months to process a claim that should have taken two weeks. Always requesting more information about the tenancy agreement, but not actually writing to tell me that, so back to stand in the queue at the council offices for another half hour, waiting to find out what they need this time. At time of writing, the council still owe me three weeks back rent and have cost me a couple of hundred pounds in late fees and fees for being over my overdraft limit.

In the meantime, I had my benefits stopped for a month, because I failed to attend an appointment. The encroaching changes to the benefit system worry me. If you want to see what a society really is, take a look at the way it treats its most vulnerable people. The nature of the work I've done over the years has meant that I've signed on from time to time, a fortnight here, couple of months there. So I've seen some of the ways benefits have changed over the years. Since the current government came to power, they've barely stopped changing.

There was a time when you had to see an advisor every three months. Then it was every six weeks, once a month, now it's every two weeks. Often the advisor can't see you on the same day that you sign and so you have to come back. When it is on the same day, it's usually scheduled for first thing. I sign on in the afternoons. So it's easy to get confused. In the past, they'd let you rebook and it was fine. To be honest, my interview is usually a waste of time. I usually spend longer waiting for the interview to begin than in the actual interview.

This time I was due to sign on Bank Holiday Monday and so the adviser was saying over and over, you don't need to come Bank Holiday Monday, you're excused signing, like it was some kind of special treat. Then she scheduled an appointment for the next day, which hasn't happened before. Bank Holiday Monday used to mean no signing day and no interview.

Not this time though and the rules have now been changed and tightened and all failures to attend, rather than being dealt with sensibly, as in the past, have to go to an adjudicator. When the government say they want to cut the benefit bill, what they really mean is that they want to redirect it. I understand that the people who adjudicate on such issues are private, third party companies, who presumably are in it to make a profit for themselves and their shareholders. I've never really understood how a profit making organisation is better for the public purse than a non-profit making government department. I'm no economist, but even I can see that this makes no financial sense. It's not that we want to cut the benefit bill, but that we want to keep as much of it away from the poor as possible.

I remembered on the Wednesday that I'd missed the appointment and went up to the benefits office and spent a long time sat down with the guy there (and they are generally very helpful people at the place I go) and he wrote out quite a long declaration on my behalf to make sure I wouldn't be sanctioned (an Orwellian word, meaning penalised) for an honest mistake.

When the decision arrived in the post, instead of making reference to my detailed explanation, the letter merely said that when asked why I had failed to attend, I said, 'I did not attend the appointment'. It then goes on to say that 'the law says' this is not a valid reason for failing to attend and my benefits were to be stopped for a month. If I did it again, they could be stopped for three months. So apparently not only did I fail to turn up to one my many appointments, but I'd also broken the law. Unemployed now equates to criminal. I waited in all weekend, but the police failed to arrive and arrest me.

In the end, they paid me four weeks benefits two weeks later. I'd been sanctioned, but not penalised. Well, apart from that day I had so little money that all I had to eat was a bowl of tomato soup and the two bits of bread that hadn't gone mould in the breadbin. 

Why does a bully bully? Same reason a dog licks its bollocks. Because it can. For the same reason, the lives of the poor, the unemployed, the disabled are continuously fucked with by people who evidently didn't get enough hugs when they were young.

What this government amply demonstrate is that all the money, education and privilege in the world can't buy one any class. Cameron, Gideon and 'Gradgrind' Grove ('Now what I want are facts. Facts are what's important') and the rest are the last people on Earth who should be running things. Education should be in the hands of teachers, the NHS run by ex nurses and GPs. Not this current crops of chinless wonders, few of whom have ever had to live in the real world and so are ill-equipped to manage things.

"While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony."
Bob Dylan

In the end, I've had to move back home for a bit. Now, don't worry about me, I'll be fine. This isn't about me (although even by saying that, you should know that it's a little bit about me). I'll soon find a job and get back on my feet and the bills will be up to date in no time. I'm quite stay at home anyway. I spend most of my money rescuing secondhand books from charity shops.

The people I worry about are the ones that are left behind. Not just the unemployed, but the disabled too. The ones who are going to have to navigate the new universal payment system. I was told the other day that eventually you won't even have to sign on to get paid, but you will still have to attend an appointment, presumably now every week. Being on benefits is like being on probation. Tagging of the disabled to follow shortly.

Tagging the disabled my sound melodramatic, but then we have already seen the unemployed working as indentured servants for Aldi and Poundland and the like. In America, the richest country in the world, the most powerful in a system where accumulated wealth is the only consideration that counts for anything, nearly 2% of the population, 10% of the African-American population, is in prison. Capitalism there has led to the bottom fifth of the population being rendered as surplus to industrial requirements and locked up for the crime of being poor. Of doing the kinds of things that poor people do to try and relieve the monotony. Slavery had been effectively reinvented and used to provide cheap labour for the commercial sector. It's not something I want to see ending up happening in this country.

Wouldn't our best system, having once abolished slavery, feel no need to reinvent it? Hasn't something gone terribly, terribly wrong?

If you were to ask me, I'd say I'm a misanthropic socialist. I don't know what you take socialism to mean, it's one of those curious words, like communism or anarchism or feminist, which were named by their enemies. Using ism and ist makes the supporters of such movements sound like fanatics, lowering their credibility. 

I take Bertrand Russell's definition of Socialism, as modified by George Orwell. To be a Socialist, Russell said, one needs only believe in three things:

Freedom
Equality
Social Justice

Actually, I would modify the definition once again:

Freedom of choice
Equality of choice
Social Justice

And that's it. If you believe in those three things then you are a socialist. Moreover, if you don't believe in these three principles of society, what do you believe in and why am I even sharing a society with you? Socialism is much maligned, largely because its ethos is in sharp contrast to the corrupt brand of capitalism that we've inherited. Yet when you break it down, when all the rhetoric is wiped away, socialism is simply the process of being part of a society. Pick up your neighbour's shopping or let someone cross ahead of you at an intersection and you are engaging in socialism. Yet because the market wishes to rob us of even our sense of community, the co-operative spirit is called being a lefty, or a red, and maligned and discouraged. If you don't want to be socialist then get like Robinson Crusoe and maroon yourself on an island.

I say to hell with it all. I've got social networking and my own blog. Governments are terrified of new media. It means they can't manage the way that news comes out, like they were once able. Twenty years ago, we'd be hearing about the Syrian conflict about now. New media makes news available almost as soon as it happens. How long did it take before the News of the World folded? Two weeks of sustained pressure on the advertisers maybe. This is where the capitalist bear (why not?) can be hurt. Stock is only as good as its image. If its image becomes toxic, the stock becomes worthless and it ceases to have power. Why bother to hack a company and cause it some mild discomfort, when enough dissatisfied customers can make a company do things it doesn't want to do, just to protect its image?

Hey, did you know that the US Constitution was based on Native American principles? The different states on the east coast initially lived in opposition to one another, like a mini version of Europe, but that wasn't working out so they took their cue from The Iroquois Great Law of Peace. Just a good example of how a fresh approach can be the making of a country.

I mention this partly as free advice, but mainly as an example of how a fresh approach to old problems can encourage growth. For some capitalism has been a godsend. For many others it has been a plague and the plague is only intensifying. Ideas evolve or they decay. When I hear people talk about tradition or the way things have always been done, it tells me that no one has had a new thought in quite a while.

Ultimately I hate the idea that capitalism is the best system we have because it's a statement of ownership. A message to ordinary person to say, we own you, and don't you ever do anything to try and change that. Mostly what it makes me want to do is to try and change the system to a more fair and equitable system.

Besides, in a properly functioning Capitalist state, wouldn't there be no poor people? Isn't that it's one measure of success or failure? So what the hell is this?

Isn't it time for some new ideas?

Or make the ones that we have finally work for us?

You may also like

Banking as Usual