On The Run

Regular readers of this blog will have “heard” me speak about my Polish (ex)neighbours before. Particularly daddy Pole who liked to wear shorts so tight it was like looking at a couple of vacuum packed faggots stapled to an all-in wrestler’s crotch.

Well, there have been developments.

They disappeared a couple of months ago amidst loud telephone conversations in their native tongue that we could hear quite plainly by standing on top of the kitchen counter and pressing a stethoscope to the wall. The conversations sounded stressed and urgent. They were obviously trying to book last minute flights at the nearest international airport. We assumed they’d decided to cut their losses in recession hit Britain and were heading back to their motherland.

Once they were gone we thought no more of them except to occasionally reminisce whimsically about the stressed faggots.

And then we received a letter from a debt collecting agency last week enquiring very stiffly if we knew of their exact whereabouts (the family and the faggots).

It seems they’d racked up quite a bit of debt and had decided to jump ship before the bailiffs arrived to confiscate their Nintendo Wii.

Not sure how I feel about it really. Part of me – possibly the slightly xenophobic part of me – feels a little put out that they came to this country, made good with our products and services and then left without paying their dues.

But the biggest part of me, if I’m honest, thinks good luck to them. Keep your heads down and keep running!

I’d like to think of them growing ridiculous moustaches and wearing incongruous sunglasses on the Costa del Sol somewhere. Possibly having dealings with the European underworld or local mafia. Obtaining new identities, false passports, new dental records. Maybe even having eye transplants like Tom Cruise in Minority Report – though I admit this might be taking things a little bit too far.

I also find it amusing (though it’s an awful joke) that this dear Polish family have absconded without paying council (poll) tax... even though it’s effectively cocking-a-snook at the local authority that pays my wages.

Anyway, I’m checking the Interpol web site regularly now.

Keeping an eye out, keeping ‘em peeled. Scanning the Most Wanted lists.

I’d recognize those freshly pressed faggots anywhere...

The Black Stuff

I nearly didn’t write this post. Three times I opened up Word only to close it down again immediately. You see, I don’t want this blog to become a teeth-gnashing mire of whinges about not having enough money or moans about having fallen onto the rib smashing rocks of hard times.

It gets boring.

Boring to write about. Boring, I’m sure, to read about plus...

I feel uneasy that all I’m doing is cynically provoking the sympathy of people who are also going through their own hard times right now.

Plus, unusually for me, I was feeling uncharacteristically reticent about committing any of what I felt to electronic “paper” this morning. The inspiration was nowhere to be found. It hadn’t so much stuck its head in the sand as flushed its head down the toilet.

But hey-ho. Here we are. It’s resurfaced again and the Word document stayed open this time. It must like life in the sewer.

What can I say? Times are getting desperate.

I continue to look for a second job but the pickings are slim. My web business likewise has hit lean times so I’m thinking of putting some of the kind suggestions people made last time I moaned about all this into action.

I'm applying for a new full-time job with the local authority I already work for - Building Surveyor - but I don't think I stand much of a chance. I'd need to be trained and sent on an appropriate degree course to become properly qualified but stranger things have happened...

Karen and I are going to see what we can do about debt consolidation to try and give ourselves some more breathing space.

I’m considering asking my granddad for a loan until the money from my aunt’s estate finally gets paid out (it’s all still tied up at the solicitors who, no doubt, are going to The Ritz every week on the interest). He’d be absolutely delighted to help out but morally I’d feel a real heel for asking.

So there are rescue packages of various sizes around if we need them. Rubber rings to cling onto. The sounds of oars in the water as a lifeboat somewhere is rowed towards to us... I can blow the whistle to alert rescuers to my presence anytime I want to.

But it’s hateful having to rely on it.

I’d much rather be piloting my ship off the rocks under my own steam...

The Pinch

Lord knows the times are hard for everyone at the moment (though the local pawn broker seems to be doing a roaring trade) but for the Blake household the shit has finally hit the fan, disintegrated at speed and then ricocheted around at a full 4D 360 degrees and coated absolutely everything.

I’m not going to reveal the harrowing state of my finances in detail but as some of you know I was already scouting around for a 3rd job (on top of my full time local authority post and my part time web design business) to help cover the shortfall we were experiencing.

We seem to be one of those families that has fallen in-between the cracks of social welfare. We can’t afford to have Karen not working but neither can we afford to put Tom into full time child care if Karen works full time. Therefore Karen works part-time and Tom goes into childcare part time. Which we still can’t afford. But as we can’t afford the full time child care even more we’ve no choice... It’s not even a vicious circle. It’s just a vicious hole.

I’ve had no real luck with acquiring a third job so far though was offered a post at a school – cleaning – for 17.5 hours a week last week. Unfortunately it would have meant me leaving the house at 8.30am to fulfill my full time employment obligations, finishing at 5.30pm, walking 2 miles to the school and then working through until 9.30 at night 5 days a week.

I was sorely tempted as we need the money so badly.

Karen however put her foot down. Something about loving me and not wanting me in hospital with exhaustion by Christmas and on the mortuary slab with a heart attack by Easter 2010.

Thinking about it, I suppose, she had a point. I’d be half dead within a month and wouldn’t have seen much of my family for the duration – which at the end of the day is who I’m doing all this for.

So I turned it down.

But I’m now wondering whether I’ve looked at a gift horse in the mouth and bitten the hand that was offering me food.

My little web design business has effectively bitten the dust.

I had two regular clients whose commissions each month added about £200 to the family coffers. The first is an amateur photographer and I’d built him a site to showcase his work. The other had various recruitment web sites and supplied me with the bulk of my work. They had bloody good rates from me – a darn sight cheaper than anything a high street internet business would have offered them. And both were making a decent amount of money from their sites – in fact the recruitment people have bought themselves new premises and new sports cars... or so my insider mole has told me.

However it seems Mr Photographer has acquired a new friend who is Flashed up to the gills (I can’t afford to buy a book on Flash at the moment let alone go for retraining) and is happy to work for the fiscal equivalent of peanuts. This is fine. Mr Photographer is not a business, he’s an individual. It’s his prerogative. Though I am hurt that after a long association he hasn’t had the decency to actually tell me that he’s dropped me in favour of another web designer. Instead I’ve had to find out through a mutual friend who is as disappointed in his actions as I am.

What really cheeses me off though is that Mr Photographer has also sold this new cheaper web designer to my other clients who, being chancers of the highest order, have also dropped me – again without any notification or “thank you very much for your services but this is goodbye”. And given their untrustworthy business nature I’m now very doubtful that they’ll pay my last invoice – thankfully they’re only into me for £90 but it’s £90 I desperately need.

My family’s one and only lifeline has effectively been severed just to save someone else a few pounds.

I know. I know.

It’s business. I shouldn’t take it personally. It’s not like we had a binding contract.

But I am very upset by it all and am feeling rather defeated and shat on at the moment. Acquiring new business in the current climate is extremely difficult. Acquiring a client who requires regular work is virtually impossible. It’s a real rarity.

I have no idea what we’re going to do. It’s no longer a case of us having no money.

We have less than no money.

Our only hope now is my aunt’s will and a bunch of solicitors who are content to swim slowly through toffee to get it sorted out.

I only hope we can keep our heads above water until the lifeboats reach us...