My one day off was spent at home. I could have gone to the gig, but I am a pauper (I work six days a week, so of course I am poor). I spent some of the day working (editing for the old ball and chain), working on my play (Boadicea which is coming along nicely, by the way) and roasting a little Empire TW as the Great British Empire, naturally (always).
On my day off, I happened to notice a sign for some work. It is a menial job: mopping floors, cleaning, even the lavatory (!), but I am not proud, and am industrious, and of course, am well suited to the task (holding a master's degree in classical Latin - the perfect job for such a scholar in Dark Age Britain!). Within 12 hours of seeing the sign I had an interview, which went well. The chap (a former RAF man [20 years in the Service], well educated [a degree in Business from the University of Bath], a thoroughly good chap in my opinion) wanted me to go through an agency. I told the gentleman that I would much rather work for him directly, and cut out the middle man. He said it would be best, so I replied that I trusted his judgement. The agency assigned me work away from the place I live (relatively near, but not really close - a two hour walk one way). I asked if they would please re-assign me the job I applied for, the one I was interviewed for, at the place where the interview took place. I have had no reply, but spent a couple of calls to the lady in charge of this assignment. Maybe something will happen, or maybe not. Had I transportation, I could have been working first thing this very morning.
I'm not proud. I work for a living, and I work hard. Stalin, on the other hand (my housemate), has not had a job since I arrived here, three and a half years ago. Well, he did have a job, for just over a week, about six months ago, until he acted inappropriately towards a young female member of staff, and has not had a job since. However, my application for this new cleaning job, and indeed the place I used to work is also recruiting, nearby, proves that if one wants to work, there is work to be found. Yet Stalin is a lazy bugger. He would rather not work, and why should he? If I took all three cleaning jobs I would still only earn the same amount as one would receive on the dole (less, in fact, because of travel expenses). Then he has his rent income from his two lodgers (the Savage Viking is still abroad - thank God). Therefore Stalin does not need to work, nor does he have any such intention of working, as there is no incentive to do so. He does not have the work ethic. For me, it does not actually matter whether I earn more or less than I would receive on the dole: that is not the point. As my late grandmother always said, "You're one of the world's workers now Maxwell." (when I was but a young boy of 15). Working is important. One does not attend the Job Centre lest one wishes to be shamed. This does not bother Stalin in the least. He is quite happy to be seen there. I, however, am not. Still, there is one thing which the British Imperial State has in its arsenal (even if there is no actual financial incentive to work or become university educated in Dark Age Britain): the stick. There is no carrot.
There is another problem here, too. There is no mobile phone signal. There are no buses that run in the evening. There are no connections to major towns. There used to be (only two years ago). One could commute to Bath or Salisbury early in the morning, and get home late at night. Yet things don't get better in Dark Age Britain: things get worse.
One thing did improve, however, recently (even if there are no buses in the evening here). The bus fare actually decreased for once! (The fares have shot up since Cold War II broke out). This, I suspect, is from subventions from the local council (for the bus company certainly wouldn't lower their fees just after increasing them). So even if one cannot actually get to and from work due to a lack of infrastructure (as one used to be able to) at least it is now cheaper for one to become stranded in a town far away from here, after working a full shift, and walk home for two hours through the forest. If these are not the Dark Ages, I don't know what are.
Max.
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