A long absence

It has been a very long time since I have written anything. Here, or anywhere else really. Three months, in fact. And not wholly without reason. I hope this stint of writer's block, or whatever you want to call it, is coming to an end, and I figure I may as well start writing again by addressing what caused me to stop in the first place. In truth, it feels a little alien, since it has been so long, and I haven't even looked at my blog in this time, but it's a start.

I've never really had the best opinion of doctors. I don't mean surgeons and paediatricians, I mean standard GPs. The only time I have ever been to a doctor out of necessity was to have stitches removed from my leg, and even that I could have done myself. The other couple of times I have consulted my GP were for minor ailments, and consisted of waiting for a very long time in a room full of trashy magazines, to then be told by a very bored looking doctor that "it's probably stress, come back if it doesn't get better on its own." This advice, invaluable though it is, is widely available online. There are hundreds of websites dedicated to telling you that all the problems you have are stress related, and that you should just chill out. Taking heed, I didn't even bother registering with a doctor for several years. 

Now, I've suffered from bouts of depression for as long as I can remember. But then again, who hasn't? Who doesn't feel like shit sometimes? I'm sure I'm perfectly normal, and there's no need to hear a doctor say it. The truth is, I'm not normal, at all. I'm well aware that I have OCD and anxiety issues. That being around people is sometimes just too much to handle. But I've learnt to live with it. Most of the time. A few months ago however, I realised that this particular "bout" of depression, this fog (for want of a more inspired metaphor) wasn't clearing, and actually seemed to be getting worse. As much as I enjoy spending entire days in bed watching DVDs, when it becomes routine, and the simple act of getting out of bed is exhausting and just not worth the effort, because, after all, there is no point to anything, it's probably time to consult a professional. So I finally dragged myself over to the surgery opposite my flat, registered (peed in a pot, answered uncomfortable questions), and eventually booked an appointment with the doctor.

Having studied diagnosis and treatment online beforehand, I was aware that a patient's level of depression is based on a short questionnaire, which essentially asks you the same thing in several different ways. I feel as though this is probably the least effective way to determine a patient's state of mind, but who am I to judge the medical profession? I was diagnosed with depression, and once I had gotten over this unexpected shock, I took the prescription and collected the medication.

I was started on 20mg of Citalopram, which several of my friends and family take and have had good results with. I was therefore also aware of the infamous list of side effects in the beginning, but this is a small price to pay if it makes me feel better, right? After a few days of constant nausea, loss of appetite, weight loss, tremors, headaches, feeling drunk and exhausted and a complete lack of sex drive, I was questioning this small price, and updating my blog was the last thing on my mind. You have to wonder, when antidepressants have warnings on the packet reading, may increase suicidal thoughts, just what the purpose of them is. But I don't like giving up, so I continued feeling like complete shit for a fortnight, before the side effects disappeared. But then I felt even more exhausted than before, which is essentially how I have felt for the last two months. 

As much as I have kicked myself for spending days laid around trying to summon the energy to do something, anything, it hasn't been very successful. But without anything to get out of the flat for, I knew that a sudden uplift wasn't forthcoming. This was made all the more obvious when I went away for a few days to Paris (which I have every intention of writing something about shortly), where I found I had all the energy and enthusiasm in the world. But on returning to the monotony of my life in London, it disappeared. This only leads me to question how effective medication really is? Does it really have any effect at all? Or does it simply give people the illusion of feeling better through a placebo effect? After suffering the side effects aforementioned, I am led to the conclusion that it does something, perhaps just not what it is supposed to. I saw my doctor again a couple of days ago and told him that I wasn't feeling any different. I filled in the questionnaire again, he put me on 40mg, and told me to return in a month. 

I knew from the start that medication is not a magic potion for curing depression. But then I've also heard from people taking Citalopram that it is a case of finding the right dosage for you. Since I am now on the maximum, if I don't feel any different in a month then there doesn't seem a whole lot of point in continuing with it. Maybe it's wishful thinking, but I am taking this motivation to update my blog for the first time in months as a sign that it may finally be starting to work. Here's hoping. 

A polite request

Just a short one here. But I feel the need to ask a question. What the fuck? Why is formatting on this website such an impossible task? Why does one paragraph have a different line-spacing than the next? I did not change any settings or add any HDML in between those two paragraphs, so I am at a loss as to why this is happening. I have managed to overcome the double spaces between paragraphs in the HDML, but I cannot for the life of me figure out how to overcome this new anoyance. The last entry I wrote, and the last but one were both written in the same way, namely, just by tapping keys and then publishing. So why the fuck do they have different line-spacing? I do not want to resort to another website to write, but I will be left with no choice if this complete ineptitude continues to make me want to knife my own computer. It's not the computer's fault, that I know, and yet Blogger is driving me to misplaced aggression. This cannot go on. I'm begging, please, can some employee fix this problem. It has persisted for months and nothing has changed. Surely a company the size of Google has skilled technicians that can overcome such a trivial error. Sadly, I am not one of them, so I cannot do it myself. I politely entreat you once more to fix the fucking thing. 

You may enter, but only if you're rich

Whilst scanning The Guardian this week in search of something to peruse with interest, I found an article about how the new changes to housing benefit are going to affect people in London. Although it did not rile me up enough to provoke me into an online debate, it did raise a number of concerns. The article, to be found here, is focused rather specifically on how the new restrictions will affect people living in Westminster. Firstly, this came as somewhat of a surprise to me. Considering the expense of renting in Westminster, that people could live there entirely on housing benefit was a rather foreign idea. But this is a very modern outlook. Surely it has not always been the case that the entire City of Westminster, like any other London borough, contained both rich and poor living side my side? Evidently, this is a fantasy notion that is nearing extinction.

The article revolves around mothers who live in Westminster being forced from their homes due to new caps on housing benefit and, most importantly, how this affects the children who will have to suffer moving home and changing schools. My reaction to news is often either fury or complete apathy. But this article left me on the fence. Firstly, why are low income families living in Westminster in the first place? As many people have responded in the comments beneath the article, there are huge numbers of people who earn a respectable wage who cannot afford to live in Westminster. £30,000 per annum is very well paid by many people's standards, including my own, but it is not enough to live in Westminster, where you look at paying upwards of £2000 a month for a studio flat. So how are women working part-time or who are unemployed managing it? The answer must surely be enormous housing benefit payments.

Is this fair? Many people say that it is not. That single unemployed mothers being subsidised by the state to live in central London is unjustified and unfair to the rest of the people who work full-time and have to commute to central London. My housing benefit is capped at £85 per week, which is nowhere near enough to fund my own flat anywhere near central London. So why on earth are these women receiving several times that amount to pay for central London homes? The answer is again an obvious one; because they have children. Which raises even more questions about the fairness of paying millions in benefits to mothers who cannot afford their own children in order that they may live in the most sought after areas in the country, at the expense of taxpayers for whom living in Westminster remains a dream. Simply put, it isn't fair at all.

But a more appropriate response would take into account their individual circumstances and how they have come to live in Westminster, and central London on the whole, in the first place. To return to my original question, clearly there was a time when such class restrictions were not in place, when affordable (council) housing was available in these areas. One notion which is rolling around my head as I write this is the contradictory nature of such acts as these changes to housing benefit. It is the Conservative party who are implementing this wave of what can arguably be called social cleansing. To say that they want rid of the unwashed poor from the Conservative mecca of Westminster is not so farfetched. But it must be taken into account that they are claiming to be solving a problem; a problem which they created in the first place.

The Right to Buy scheme which Thatcher enforced in the 80s sounds like a great idea. Giving council tenants a right to buy their properties at a discounted price. But what does that lead to? To those tenants then selling on their properties to private landlords who hike up rental prices and charge double, triple or more what the original tenants were paying the council. I speak from experience, since both of my parents lived in council properties which they then went on to buy and sell at a profit. And there are countless instances of this happening accross London. Trellick Tower (see image) in the London Borough of Kensington and Chelsea was built in the 60s and consisted entirely of council flats, but due to redevlopment and gentrification schemes many of these are now private flats costing upwards of £1500 a month, which is likely significantly higher than what your neighbour is paying the council for the same apartment. Giving council tenants the choice to buy their homes is a nice idea, but realistically the only thing it serves to achieve is a decline in council housing and a rise in private rentals, which are far more expensive.

The Conservative philosophy is apparently to privatise everything, regardless of the consequences and repercussions (those can be dealt with later). But privatising council properties has led to private landlords charging exorbitant rents which will subsequently lead to the gradual rise in both the number of housing benefit claimants and the amount that they are claiming. And now it is poor tenants who are suffering for the Tories' lack of judgement. Whether or not it is fair that single mothers should enjoy the benefits of living in central London is almost irrelevant when you consider that the properties which they rent are most likely situated in ex-council blocks. Meaning that the rent that they now pay is probably many times what it was originally. How can a flat in Westminster rented out at £200 a week by the council be sold to a private landlord and then rented out at quadruple that price without any changes being made to the property itself? How is that justifiable? When landlords can charge just under £40,000 a year for a tiny damp flat in an ex-council tower block filled with broken furniture, the problem is clear: privatisation. The question of why single mothers are living in central London is no longer the most important.

The article almost makes out that this is only the case in Westminster. That any other London borough would offer an abundance of affordable housing. But this is simply not the case. My current flat is located in Southwark, close to central London, and costs £1000 a month. I would not consider this affordable, but I do live near central London. However, my last flat was in Lambeth, close to the border of Croydon, where inner London becomes outer London, a 90 minute bus journey into the city centre, and yet it cost the same price as my current flat. To say then, that this problem is restricted to Westminster, or even to central London, and that these families could move to another borough and choose from any number of affordable options is overly simplifying the matter, and has little credibility. 

Rent in central London is extortionate, that much is true. But council housing is almost non-existant, meaning that affordable housing in any part of London, or indeed any part of the country, is becoming increasingly difficult to find. There was a Dispatches episode on the affordable housing debate which showed that Manchaster and other large cities in the UK have this problem; masses of private high-end apartments being built but little or no affordable ones. There is very little demand for high-end property at the moment. The new developments being built often remain unfilled for months or years following their completion. And yet continue to be built. On the other hand, the waiting list for council properties getting longer and longer, and yet there doesn't seem to be any inclination to build more of these. Gentrification is nothing more than social cleansing; forcing low-income families out of the cities towards the outskirts. The Conservatives are benefiting twofold from this; saving expense through cuts to housing benefit, and moving the undesirables out of London to make way for the rich. This affinity for wealth and disgust for poverty belongs to the 19th Century and not modern day liberal (supposedly) Britain. But rather than getting better, the situation seems to be worsening. The government should be taking measures to alleviate this dissonance between the classes, but instead they are further widening the gap.

The cause of the problem is being wholeheartedly ignored. What is needed is not a cap on benefits but a cap on rents, as well as the creation of affordable homes. As long as there is such a high demand for council properties, and as long as landlords are free to charge such ludicrously high rents, there is a need for housing benefit. Slashing this will save some money, but it will not fix the problem in the long term.

Saving money is what this is all working towards. The Conservatives say that we must take austerity measures to decrease the deficit, but how much are we hearing about rich families who are struggling to cut down their spending? That's right, zero. The opposite in fact, since bankers are still receiving thousands in bonuses. While the rest of the country is forced to live frugally, the rich are somehow exempt. Every household which is feeling the squeeze of the cuts right now is a poor one. Poor to begin with, and now struggling even more. But how much money is this benefit cap really saving? Skimming off a little from housing benefit payments will not save very much comparatively. But it will ruin people's lives. Greater taxes on the rich could save twice as much, and they would not even notice it.

I am not one to take the side of people with children, and I would mostly agree that people should not have children which they cannot afford. To an extent I disagree with the concept of child benefit, because I think that people should make a responsible decision on whether they can afford to raise a family before they do, rather than relying on the state to support them later.  But however I may feel about people's lifestyle choices is besides the point. "To live in Westminster is a privilege, not a right" is a statement which both angers and saddens me, because I do not believe that any city in the UK should be completely off-limits to anybody but the uber-rich. This is a complacent and conceited remark that condones class segregation.

The women mentioned in the article have the luxury of living in Westminster, and I, like many, am rather envious of that fact. But do I think that they should be forced to move miles away to the outer boroughs? No. They are being treated unfairly by the government, and that is the brunt of the matter. Regardless of circumstances, they are not to blame, and yet they are being punished. It is a cruel irony that the families being forced out of their homes right now are paying the price of Thatcher's failed privatisation schemes of the 80s. The money being saved by these changes does not justify such social cleansing. What we are seeing is a complete denial of the issue at hand; affordable housing. Inevitably, competition between private landlords will always lead to rises in rents, and more people will need to resort to housing benefit, it is that simple. Not to mention the links with rising unemployment and wage cuts and freezes. It would make more sense to buy back these buildings to be used once again as council properties which do not require such heavy subsidies. The benefit cap is merely a placebo. Unless affordable housing is created, the problem will not go away.

Minimum wage reaches a new low of £1.36

On Friday night whilst I was in my favourite London metal bar, The Intrepid Fox, I received a call from someone I (vaguely) work with. Due to high decibel levels, and the fact that it was Friday night, I let it ring through to voicemail. The voicemail said something along the lines of "I need to speak with you urgently, call me back as soon as possible". Not knowing what could possibly be important enough to interrupt normal Friday night drinking, and not keen on standing in the -5 temperatures outside to call back, I totally forgot about it until last night, when I returned the call...

And so (somewhat inevitably) I am once again jobless. The call was in fact to inform me that due to company changes my employer can no longer find a position for me. It seems that I am just not suitable for a role in a fashion company. Which, to be honest, I knew from the start. The news itself wasn't particularly disheartening. My opinions on working for a fashion company with completely different ethics and opinions to myself have been brought up several times (I hate fashion), not to mention the ongoing feeling that the ad hoc nature of part-time work there was generally fucking me around. So in many respects, it is a relief to be free from an uneasy and uncommitted job which has caused more grief and frustration than enjoyment or satisfaction. The only downside would be the timing...

In December (I think), Milo, my boyfriend, got a job which he had been hoping for immensely, and which came with a huge wage increase. He immediately started planning holidays and events which he could now afford us to do. A weekend in Paris and a festival in Germany have already been booked. Two weeks ago, my employer said that in all likelihood, after a few things had been sorted, they would be able to employ me full time. Everything looked great. 2012 might not be so bad after all! That is until Milo's enthusiasm ended with a severely overdrawn account and a number of bank charges which he couldn't afford. And I, from the prospect of progressing from part-time work to full-time work, suddenly have no work at all. How life has a way of baking you a cake, only to take it back, beat the shit out of it, and then throw it at your face. 

To add insult to injury, the Jobcentre informed me at my last meeting that they were looking to put me onto another work placement scheme. Since I was just waiting to hear back from my employer with a start date for full-time work, I managed to postpone this. Ironically, it turns out that the Jobcentre are the very reason my employer couldn't employ me full time. He was looking into getting funding from them to start an apprenticeship of sorts, but due to a number of bureaucratic restrictions, I was not eligible for it. I have now been unemployed long enough to see that not only do the Jobcentre not help people look for work, they actively hinder it.

So now I expect that I will be put on another work placement scheme, which, since my cynicism has been ever increased by the last failed work placement, is sure to be a huge fucking waste of time. Not to mention how completely unfounded and hypocritical are the claims that these work placement schemes are helping people back into work. Not that I am stupid enough to believe anything that the Tories say is actually true, but upon first mention, the idea of work placements does seem like a great idea of getting people back into work. The only problem is, the number of jobs available is going down, as the number unemployed is going up. This discordance  of strategies on the part of the government; to slash the number of jobs whilst forcing the unemployed into unpaid work placements, is simply a way of justifying the former with the latter. And predictably, this is being abused by huge companies to receive free labour. 

To say that the government is adding to the pressure and discontent of a generation of young people unable to find work would be putting it lightly. To say that they are oppressively forcing people to work for their right to receive benefits is more accurate. And the idea that this is actually helping people is uninformed at best and a cruel mockery at worst. How can it possibly help young people, who are looking for work, frustrated at the continual headlines in the news that more job cuts are on the way, to push them into unpaid work, surrounded by people doing exactly the same job for a wage? How can it possibly motivate people when the job they are doing is, for all intents and purposes, unnecessary (and it must be, otherwise a paid position would be in its place)? How is it justified to not only allow, but to actually coerce people into working for £1.35 an hour when the minimum wage (for over 21) is £6.08?

Speaking from experience, this forced labour does not help people into full time work, since employers taking part in it are under no obligation to employ people at the end of their placements, and companies such as Tesco are simply using it as an opportunity to hire extra staff without it affecting their profits. Which means that after the end of the placement, people return to job-seeking, having gained nothing more than 3 months experience stacking shelves, which is hardly an invaluable CV addition. It should be obvious to anyone then that this scheme is not a great motivational tool either. And perhaps worst of all, is the way that it is making young unemployed people feel exploited, constrained and worthless: it is nothing less than draconian.

The disillusionment that I have felt, not only towards the government, but also towards the supposed support that I am due to receive from the Jobcentre, is nothing new. The longer a person is unemployed, the more dejected and apathetic they are bound to feel towards their situation. The situation is bad enough as it is; not having a job is shit, as anyone who has ever been unemployed knows. To be told by some Eton educated toff, who was born into wealth and never had to look for a job in his life, how to find a job, is adding salt to the wound. And the huge government cuts to the benefit system are a slap in the face to go with it. The feeling of disillusionment is nothing new, but now added to it are feelings of persecution. I will most likely be placed on a second work-placement scheme in the coming weeks, at the end of which I will not be guaranteed a full-time job. And what then? The government claims that this is helping me back into full-time employment. But if nothing is guaranteed, if the employers enlisted are under no obligations, if the people on these placements have absolutely no incentive (which they don't, since they are unpaid), if no real, full-time, paid positions are being created, then how can this possibly solve the unemployment problem which this government created?

Reflections on a terrible year

I am not one for tradition. Marriage, mortgages and Christmas cheer are all foreign concepts to me. But for some reason, when it comes to New Year, I do feel some need to follow the custom of reflection and resolution in an attempt to somehow better myself. There's no harm in trying to break bad habits, even if it is in vain. So following this mod of reflection, let's face it, 2011 was fucking terrible. It started with the worst Winter months in living memory: absolutely no sunlight paired with continual rain and damp for eight long weeks. I have never really considered myself prone to seasonal affective disorder, but two months of grey, wet weather is bound to make even people on Prozac feel shit. Not least because one illness seemed to follow another through the entire period. By the time March came around I was certain that this was going to be the worst year ever. The weather had persuaded me that nothing good could come of 2011, that the sun was never going to reappear, that it was utterly impossible to find a job, that 2011 was going to be one extremely long rainy day spent indoors watching DVDd and drinking Lemsip, occasionally glancing hopefully over the window but seeing nothing but this:

Thankfully, this wasn't the case. Eventually the weather changed and we were blessed with some glorious Spring weather. This made me jump at the opportunity to emerge from my hole and venture further outside than just to the corner shop to buy tea and biscuits. It was also around this time I began the BBC Book Challenge, essentially a "100 books to read before you die" thing. At the very least, this could distract me from the ongoing disappointment of jobhunting: applying for countless positions, attending various interviews, and then ultimately hearing nothing back from any. This did not help my motivation at the beginning of what was sure to be one of the worst years of my life. So I replaced disappointment and frustration with books, which cost more but gave my pointless existence some semblance of purpose.

After the amazing Spring weather, we entered a typically English Summer. It rained, and it rained... and then it rained some more. Torrential rain, thunderstorms, water literally cascading from the roof. With the exception of a couple of days in June, the temperature never got very high. I'm not really sure how I feel about heatwaves. I mean, there is a strange novelty in stepping outside one morning and feeling as though you have been transported to the Mediterranean. But I suppose the novelty of being inside an oven wears off after a short while and I am left praying (obviously not actually praying) for storms. And there were lots of storms...

2011 was also the 5th consecutive year of moving house. Worse than ever before, the stress of it all made me feel like a masochist. Why do you do this to yourself, every single year? The district we had pinned our hopes on, despite being affordable in Spring, was suddenly way out of our price range, along with the extortionate cost of deposits, and that properties stay on the market for an average of about 36 seconds in London, made it all a pain in the arse before it even began. And then, we tried to move by public transport. I hear you, why the fuck would anyone do that? It seemed like a sensible idea at the time, but how, I have absolutely no idea.

Shortly after moving six miles closer to central London, my work placement started. This had its highs and lows as I have mentioned previously. The placement itself lasted two months, but I continued volunteering there on an ad hoc basic rather exasperatedly. Officially, I resumed weekly meetings with the condescending club at the Jobcentre, which began what was sure to be a steady decline towards the end of the year. The debate over whether to continue working very few irregular hours or call it quits and return to job-hunting in earnest has been my main concern these past three months, and I never did come to a decision. Since I am now being paid, I figure working irregularly is better than not working at all. 

When the lights and decorations go up and December comes round, I think about this:

The Three Disappointments of December

• My birthday
• Christmas
• New Year's Eve

December is an all-round messy month, for a number of reasons. It starts with my birthday, which this year consisted of 6 of my friends staying in my rather small 1-bed apartment for 4 days. Literally climbing over one another to reach the fridge and having to join a queue whenever you need to pee is not an enjoyable way to spend a weekend. I planned the weekend that we would spend as much time out of the house as possible, but this did not go down well. It seems that most of my friends, instead of spending their weekend in London actually doing things in London, would prefer to just sit in front of the TV. I did not foresee this, I did not understand this, and after much complaining and bickering I pledged never to try organising anything ever again. It was meant as a threat but it was probably considered a relief. I spent the next week in bed sulking over what a failure the whole thing had been. But the one thing that did succeed, as always, was being drunk from Thursday through to Monday, which was a taste of the rest of December.

After two weeks usually spent in bed recovering comes Christmas. I have learnt from 2010 to avoid the West End as much as possible in December (and mostly November as well), because it is sure to raise the natural levels of rage in one's blood, be it through hordes of stupid people with 65 bags on each arm, the tacky, kitschy Christmas decor, or the horrible Christmas music, which is played everywhere, 24 hours a day, and haunts my dreams. After much deliberation, I crawled back to stay with my family in York, remaining completely sceptical on the way there. On the 25th I stayed in bed reading until early afternoon so as to avoid the explosion of consumerism happening in the living room. This avoided the general feeling of disdain that Christmas morning brings. The wonderful books which I received, and never being without an alcoholic drink, actually made it enjoyable. So the Christmas of 2011 will be remembered as one of the better ones, but again, being drunk for an entire week has severe negative effects.

New Year's Eve has definitely gained a bad reputation. Last year, due a public transport fail, we were still stood shivering in a bus stop at midnight, and ended up spending £40 on a taxi to finally get to the club, which itself, costs something like £30 a ticket and a further £5 per drink. The club was just good enough to outweigh these failings, but spending £50+ on one night out is something I will never feel okay with. The year before that I went to a house party, in which everyone fell asleep by 10pm, and the year before that I don't even remember. So this year we took a "no frills" approach; we'll go to the club that we always go to. Being members, it cost a mere £10, and thankfully, the bring-your-own-booze policy and drinks prices at the bar did not change because of the date. This meant that at midnight we were on the dance floor with a bottle of champagne listening to the countdown, rather than sat in a bus stop. I would consider this a success.

No matter how successful or unsuccessful these events turn out to be however, December is just one long binge. And when it's over I feel like shit. It's inevitable, as is January being crowned "most depressing month of the year". For the first few days I barely got out of bed, so acute was my sense of shame as I recovered from a very prolonged hangover. Because of this severe hangover following the disgraceful behaviour of December, it is no surprise that people make a desperate attempt to change their ways. There is always something we could quit, or do more of, or do less of. Especially after a year as shit as 2011. The only resolution that I have come up with so far is to drink less, but since I go various festivals every year; 3 days of drinking, getting drunk, and getting completely wasted, this could be a difficult one to keep. But (and this can ultimately summarise my entire outlook for 2012) we'll see how it goes.