PARTIES, VISAS, AGENCIES AND SOME OF THE OTHER 'ENJOYABLE' THINGS IN LIFE...

Things were now all coming to the boil… Literally.

The fun time was over apart from the following two Saturday nights when we’d been invited to friend’s parties, one a fortieth and one a fiftieth.

Plus we’d got Haddy’s visa to sort out and that was a serious pain in the arse and was going to cost a few quid and a few days off work which we were both going to have to take as holidays.

At least I’d get paid for mine but when she was off, being an agency worker, she wouldn’t.

Nobody wanted to take her on full time because her entry visa only lasted for three years and then had to be renewed.

Let’s talk about being an agency worker for a moment and clear up a few misconceptions.

One:  They were treated as the lowest of the low on a minimum wage of about six pounds an hour, no holiday pay and a maximum of about twenty days paid holiday a year but only if you’d worked constantly for them for a specific time.

This is absolutely true.

Ten years ago I’d done it and things hadn’t changed much in the meantime.

Two:  The government had brought in a law which stated that if an agency worker was seconded to a company for twelve weeks (or more) then they would have to be paid the same as the full time staff in that company and be subject to that company’s holiday rules, meaning that they would be treated in exactly the same way as the full time staff.

Now bearing in mind that the firms hiring these agency workers were paying the agencies about sixteen pounds an hour for their services, the agencies were paying out about six pound an hour and keeping ten, then the agencies were making some serious money if they had any good-ish workers on their books.

So nobody could have a problem with the new law, right ?

WRONG !!!

The agencies had a problem with it because they earned less money.

What they had done since the law came into place was make sure that all their workers only worked ten weeks at a maximum in the same place.

This enabled the greedy, grasping bastards to avoid paying out any extra money and also avoid giving the agency workers any extra holiday entitlements that they would otherwise have been entitled to by law.

So after working happily for ten weeks at one location, Haddy would be moved for a week into another workplace before going back to the original, despite the original employer threatening all manner of dire imprecations if they couldn’t keep her.

And what did our wonderful government say about this ?

They issued a statement saying that people preferred part-time work.

This HAD to be true because more people were doing it.

Not true.

More people were totally stuck in it.

It didn’t matter how good the agency staff were, no company would get them for more than ten weeks which makes an absolute mockery of firms wanting to keep anybody who was any good.

They couldn’t.

If any firm wanted to keep one of their agency workers then they would have to pay the agency a 'transfer fee'.

It's just like football except that the agency worker is being kicked around and not the ball.

The agencies were going to make money whether the government liked it or not and that system is still in place as I write and nobody gives a flying fuck about it.

It’s wrong and that’s that.

Unless of course you work for an agency in which case it’s a way around the law.

This of course makes you wonder why the government brought the law into being in the first place unless it was to make themselves look good ?

On paper of course, it does…

The reality is somewhat different.

Anyway, that’s the position that she was in.

Not perfect but then what is ?

Where were we?  Oh yeah, I know…

Marcus’s fortieth.

Sarah’s other half Marcus is a film maker and an all-round nice bloke.
For those who read this thing, he'd filmed the gig, half of which was posted in the previous post.

I’d known Sarah since she was a schoolgirl hanging about in the shop to cut lessons.

She was the same age as my eldest daughter and in the same form as my ex-guitarist Emma.

Now she was a co-member of Parnassus Performance and a writer, mother, housewife, supply teacher and God knows what else ?

After her marriage ended, she and the two kids, Charlotte and Jonathan, had moved back to Stevenage, hooked up with Marcus and they’d been together ever since.

Marcus does the filming for the Arcadeclectic Stage at Rhythms of the World and makes sod all money at it because he actually believes in helping out the bands.

Of course once he has them, then he has them hooked.

But then he’s pretty good at getting what they want from a live-action video, so after the event if they want him again, then the fee is negotiable.

Now he’s hitting the big four-O the week after he's given us a freebie down the museum.

Haddy says she’ll help out with some  African food instead of the usual sausage rolls and we make plans.

He has hired the Lytton Players hall




which includes a stage and has got Silent Smiles (a band we both quite liked to reform as they’d split) and Marching Donald
as cabaret, sent out the invitations and off we both went.

Both acts were well received and everybody there had a good time.

Nobody got completely wrecked, which tends to detract from some people’s general enjoyment of the event and so it must be counted a success.

Haddy’s African nosh was well received and although some food was left over because I think they’d catered for two hundred people eating double portions, Sarah and Marcus went home with enough food to stock the freezer for a couple of months.

For some reason we didn’t take that many photo’s of the event.

Dunno why ?

It just happens that way sometimes.

The following week we were at Rockin’ Jonny T’s fiftieth which was altogether a different kettle of fish because it was going to be fancy dress.

Oooops.

Ok dear, what are you going to dress up as ?

Now I’d known Jonny T since he’d just left his teens which means since the mid nineteen seventies at least.

On and off.

He had his thing and I had mine, so when the Sex-Pistols shook up the music industry he’d formed a band with a few like-minded souls and they’d only had a hit single.

They were called Chron Gen and anybody with a vague interest in the punk scene will have heard of them.

It didn’t last that long for Jon however, as the term ‘musical differences’ intervened and he was out.

He’d messed around throughout the early eighties and then he’d found another bunch of like-minded souls and they’d formed a ska-punk band named Scum of Toytown, released a few singles and cassettes, recorded an album ‘Strike’  for Words of Warning records and split up in the late nineties

In that time he seemed to have played with almost everybody of any note, including me, Emz and Andy when we recorded our album (cassette actually) as Kocaine and Jon asked if he could supply the sandwiches when we recorded it ?

It was either Emz or me who said ‘Fuck that.  If you’re coming then bring your guitar and you’ll be on it…’

Needless to say he did, and stuck a great guitar line on our cover of Bruce Cockburn’s ‘And They Call It Democracy’.

At one point he was going to sell all his musical stuff and quit but I collared him at a gig in Hitchin and implored him not to.

There may have been others who did also, but I definitely did and thankfully so because he didn’t, he met Jo and formed Ike who mutated into Lika Sharps when they met G-Man.

Then of course Scum reformed and he was in both bands…

A stint with Eastside Jimmy made it three and that is where it stands today.

So yeah we were definitely going, the question was, as what ?

We made it easy on ourselves by going in African dress.

Jo had asked me and Grant

to provide a poem for the occasion which sort of summed up Jon.

I thought about it for a bit then decided it was going to be one that was already written.

It was definitely ‘Jon’ and would probably apply to more than a few of the other guests also.

Ran a copy off, signed it with love and bought a frame.

Present sorted.

Jon and Jo

I’m not sure Stevenage’s Cricket and Hockey club had seen anything like what turned up ? 

Four old queens...

It was a classic.

Druid and Grim Reaper

Everybody had made an effort and dressed up.

Mickey... Nice blouse mate.

Jon’s Mum had even ‘punked up’ for the occasion.

Ok, it had been done for a photo' session for the cake, but what a trouper...

Shakey was doing the disco.

It certainly wasn’t like playing a four stringed guitar for the Drug Prowling Wolves that’s for sure…

Thing is, if he wasn’t such a nice bloke and held in such high esteem by everyone then it couldn’t have occurred.

But he is, we love him because he’s Jon and he’s a special sort of guy.

Anyway, enjoy the photo’s and see if you can recognise anybody else ?

Little & Large or the original Bass Relief. Mark and me

Cap'n Hook

Jill and Ian are in there somewhere

Here’s the poem.

Please don’t think of stealing it and passing it off as your own ‘cause I’ve been doing it for years on and off, and have the recordings to prove it.

Plus, it still gets in the set as you will have noted if you’d watched the video from Stevenage Museum in the last post.

Typically in the first draft I spelt Jon's name wrong... Doh !

And a good and drunken time was had by all.

Reality was about to hit home the following week...

Ok.

Let’s talk about visas.

I realise it’s an emotive subject and some of my views are going to get right up the noses of the trendy left wing Guardian and Independent reading muesli knitters, but quite honestly I really don’t give a fuck.

If they and/or some of our new European economic migrants feel offended by anything written here then I have to say I really don’t give a flying fuck what they think, either.

The reason is because none of them are in the position I am, where my wife and inclusively me because I’m married to her, are deliberately being treated as second-class citizens in the country I was born in and lived in all my life just because she happens to be African and/or Black.

Got that ?

Good.

When we got married my wife was given (Joke:  it cost six hundred and eighty quid) a visa to come here and live with me just as she should have been.

Ok, it took six months and there was absolutely no reason for the delay except for the reason that she was Black and/or African and we’d got a new Conservative political regime in place to replace the corrupt shenanigans of B’liar and Brown’s hard labour party who had opened the floodgates in the U.K. to any and all including all the jihadists who flocked here from…  Let’s see... Pakistan, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Somalia etc,  all of whom claimed their inalienable right to ponce off the state and stir up trouble outside any mosque or on any streetcorner.

If you criticised them then you were immediately called a racist or worse.

We couldn’t get rid of them because he’d also signed up to the European Human Rights Act and it would breach the Act and their human rights if we did.

Of course it doesn’t take into consideration that the murderous bombing bastards had breached everybody’s human rights in the past by killing and maiming innocent people somewhere else, but what the fuck ?

But even worse than that, B’liar had sold out everybody in the country by signing a European Union document giving the right of abode and benefits to any freeloading ponce (economic migrant) from Europe who wanted to cross the water.

Of course they had to cross France first where they SHOULD have been stopped, but the cheese eating surrender monkeys were actually helping them onto the boats at Calais !!!

Then the European Union made the Eastern European countries members and we were inundated…

First it was the Czech’s, then it was the Poles and in the near future we’ll have the Romanians and the Bulgarians.

Not only are they allowed to come here and claim housing if they say they are homeless but they can claim all the benefits from the DHS also.

Unlike my wife who isn’t allowed to claim for anything.

She’s entitled to use the NHS but then so is everybody else in the country so big fucking deal.

Unfortunately the visa only lasts for three years and then has to be renewed at nearly double the price of the first one and now her time was up.

Right, first things first, look up the procedure for renewal on the internet on the government’s website.

First we have to apply.

We also have to supply thirty odd pages of information about ourselves, most of which has previously been submitted on her original application.

Then there are the ‘Original’ copies that we have to supply of information that they have already been given.

Things like marriage certificates, house deeds, consecutive bank statements, utility bills with her name on…

So we get it together and now we have a choice.

Do we pay to get the documentation checked over by yet another government department before we send it off ?

My view is yes we do.

It means that we both have to take more days off, and spending a day in Hatfield is never my idea of a fun time but if it helps then let’s do it.

In the meantime Haddy has to take an ‘Englishness’ test.

This is to prove that

(A)   She can speak it and read it, and

(B)   She knows a little bit about the history of the country that we call home.

This is done at the local college and she is one of five in her group (about 20) who pass the test.

Now I don’t have a problem with that.

What I do have a problem with is the fact that if you receive benefits then you don’t have to pay for it. It’s free.

If you can’t speak or read English then please tell me why the fuck you are here ?

My wife isn’t allowed to claim benefits so she has to pay.

There is something intrinsically wrong with the way that system works.

It doesn’t make any kind of sense.

One of the questions she was asked was ‘What year was the Magna Carta signed ?’

She knew the answer which is more than can be said for that thick cunt we have as Prime Minister who didn’t have a fucking clue when he was asked the same question on a radio show.

Maybe my wife should be running the country instead ?

As a previous headmistress of an infants school she couldn’t do a worse job, I know that.

Still, now the ‘Englishness’ test is done she can answer yes to another question on the form.

Hatfield in the morning…

It’s a bit like waiting at a border crossing in a colour film and crossing the border into a black and white one.

Nothing to do with the colours of fleshtone, but everything to do with the fact that Hatfield is a dilapidated grey dump which really ought to be bulldozed flat and rebuilt, or better still, left off the map altogether.

Anyway, we’re here, that’s the main thing.

An hour’s wait in the lobby before we are called through and she has already had to warn me twice about my attitude which can legitimately be described as ‘cynical as shit’.

It won’t do me any good but this whole affair is so fucking distasteful that I can’t pull myself out of it.

We’re paying another seventy six pound for this service and when we send off the form we have to send another nine hundred and ninety one with it.

Another thousand quid less nine, but what’s nine quid when you haven’t had a raise in salary for three years because the government have pegged your pay ?

According to the form it’s going to take a government department another three months to process it, but according to the lady who saw us it’s more likely to take four…  (at least)

Great.

And in the meantime my wife can’t leave the country as she’ll have to pay it all over again if she does.

What happens if one of the kids gets sick ?

What happens if there’s a death in the family ?

Cross that bridge when and if we have to.

To be fair to the lady who went through the form, she did help us by pointing out the badly written bits where we’d answered wrongly.

I swear the bit about dependents and children is worded so badly that more people are going to get it wrong (as we did) just so that the government can call you liars, but she pointed out the anomaly and we re-answered it correctly.

That bit alone was probably worth the seventy six quid.

The biggest laugh came when she got to the question about ‘Have you ever made threats about anybody in the government ?’

No more than ninety nine per cent of the other residents of this country.

I’d like to finish the job that Guy Fawkes started, preferably with all the venal, self-serving cunts within it when it goes up…

Obviously I’d written NO, but the thought was there.

Apparently all the extra stuff I’d brought along was quite helpful.

My wife doesn’t pay any utility bills.

I do.

I see no reason to screw up my accounts with the gas, electric and TV people just to put her name on them.

If you’ve ever tried to alter anything previously and it’s all gone tits up for you then you will certainly understand my reticence, so they got a letter explaining why I refuse to change them.

None of their staff seem to speak English and when they’ve taken YOUR money and stuck it in the wrong account and won’t sort out the problem until you have paid AGAIN, then why would anybody want to go through that ?

Dealing with people in their Indian sub-continent call centres who can’t speak English can be exasperating in the extreme…

So I don’t.

Anyway, we finally got it finished, paid nearly a grand and left it there to be put into the diplomatic bag or whatever it is they do ?

All the children are listed which is good, but now we also know how much it’s going to cost to get them in if she gets her visa…

THOUSANDS of pounds.
And that's just for a six month holiday visa...
I don't care to know right now how much it'll cost to reunite them with their mother.

Maybe we should get them to become Polish ponces- sorry, citizens so they can come in for nothing ?

Not that it matters right now because we don’t have any money left.
All we can do right now is wait.

I swear if David Cameron comes out with that expression ‘family values’ ever again, then he’d better have eyes in the back of his fuckin’ head !!!

 

ARRIVAL...

So here I am… Sitting on my arse on the floor of the arrivals terminal at Gatwick and the interminable wait just goes on… And on… And on… And on…
The flight arrived on time but there’s still no sign of her.
Finally… At half past midnight she comes walking through, pulling her case.
I don’t know who made the first move but we’re just hugging kissing in the middle of the floor and I can see and feel the tears in her eyes on my cheek.
“Any problems ?”
“A few…”
Hung up at immigration because she has a refusal note on her file for a visa caused by me not taking six months worth of my original bank statements on holiday for a previous visit when we applied for a visitors visa…
I’m all for tightening up the system but this is ridiculous.
She’s here because she’s entitled to be, but still they find ways to make things difficult.
It’s beyond any reasonable form of comprehension, but she’s here now, and that’s what really matters.
I’ve been here so long that it takes a tenner just to get me out of their short-term car park opposite the terminal.
Now if only Thames Valley plod have switched off the variable speed limit signs we can cruise straight home… Well, we can up until the coned off sections anyway.

There were tears back home in The Gambia when she left, as it will be the start of a new era for the kids.
Housai’ and Hassa’ are splitting up and going their own ways.
Sainabou will be stopping work and becoming the ‘mum’ of the compound and Mariama’s guardian when Fatou gets her visa to join her husband Vincent in Glasgow.
Fatou does have a small problem though…
She’s trying to make a deal with her father to rent the beach bar from her.
He wants it, but is not prepared to come up with the money as he’s ‘family’ but Fatou is holding out knowing she can get the price elsewhere.
Good for her.
I know what sort of ‘family’ he is… I had to go through the worries with Haddy when Fatou was taken ill and the tight-fisted sod wouldn’t pay for her hospital stay…
We’ve also got another little ‘un in the family.
Fatou has become the guardian of little Jalika, whose Mother was her best friend at school.
Unfortunately Jalika’s Mum died when giving birth and her Father now cannot cope with a six year old child, so Fatou said she’d take her on and this was acceptable to her Father, so now we’ve got another little one to look after.
I know her because she comes round the compound sometimes to play, she’s tiny for her age and quite shy, but that will soon change…

Ebrima’s wife, Fatou Manta Jarra, has just given birth to Ebrima’s first son Samsidine, and he’s overjoyed about that because they’ve been trying for so long.
Now little Ami’s got a younger brother.
Maybe the anti-smoking lecture helped ?
I’ll find out later.
He’s not that well at the moment apparently, and is having to take time off from work and as a former self-employed bloke myself, I know how difficult that can be sometimes.
Oi ! Darling… Enough.
I’ve been awake since six this morning and it’s now half past four the following morning… Any chance we can get some kip ?

Waking up the following morning not having to go to work is great, but waking up next to Haddy is even better…
Now all we have to do is find her a job.
Wasn’t that an easy sentence to read ?
I have to admit it was pretty easy to write, too…
The reality of her first month back over here was something else however…

I’m going to try and stay as matter of fact as possible when writing this.
If by chance you find any humour or sarcasm or cynicism in the writing then I’m afraid that’s just the way of the world and if you think there are any hints of criticism or that I’m excoriating (nice word that) a completely useless system you might also have a point, but hey ?

So Haddy’s been in the country two weeks now and we visit one of the local agencies to get her registered on their books so that she can get a job…
Passport ? Check.
Visa clearance for work ? Check.
I.D. card ? Check.
National Insurance number ?
Errr… Not yet, but hopefully this afternoon ?
So off we traipse to the local tax office to apply for one but they tell us that it’s now Job Centre Plus who supply them.
Ok… Walk down the road to Job Centre Plus.
The guard on the door asks us why we’re there ?
Guard ?
Yep !
The local Job Centre Plus needs a guard at the door…
Apparently people get irate and go for the staff in Job Centre Plus’s…
So…
Stand in that queue.
Her turn.
“I need a national insurance number so that I can get a job”
“Passport ?”
It’s proffered…
“Ok, go home and ring this number”
So we go back home and ring the number…
“Job Centre Plus… How can we help ?”
“I need a National Insurance number…”
“Ok… Let me take a few details…”
These are then given and taken over the telephone.
“Here’s a temporary number, you can use this number if the agency find you any work…”
Apparently the form she needs to fill in will be with her in two weeks and all she will then need to do is fill it in and return it, and she’ll be sent a National Insurance number.
Ok… Are you with us ?
Is it clear so far ?
So Job Centre Plus sent us home so that we could ring Job Centre Plus ?
Yep ! You got that bit right.
Makes you wonder, doesn’t it ?
Maybe it’s to keep as many people employed in Job Centre Plus as is humanly possible ?
It’s not as if people aren’t going to ask for the form that will enable their employers to pay them for doing a job, is it ?
You can’t get a job (officially) without one so why not cut out the two week wait for the form to arrive ?
Well, I’ll tell you…
Your guess is as good as mine ?
Now she needs a bank account.
My bank, Barclays, don’t want to know…
See… I told you I’d publicise your helpfulness… Not !
She has no official credit history so they can’t make any checks so basically she can get stuffed…
It wasn’t actually put like that, but that’s what they meant in so many words.
What about a joint account ?
Only if I change all my utility bills and accounts… Like gas, water, electric etc to include her name, then they’d be happy to open a joint account, but not before…
This of course could take months and that’s only if it’s done successfully without any of the foul-ups which the afore-mentioned utilities are renowned for ?
Hmmm ?
Is it me, or is all this shit just designed to stop people getting a job ?
I can basically falsify my details to get her on the system (shit-stem… thank you Bob Marley…) and the bank will then accept this, but it won’t let her have an account unless I tell lies ?
Yes… I think that’s basically it ?
I refused…
Told him to stick it actually, and so we were then escorted to the door…
Jesus Fucking Christ !
How fucking mental is that ?
Oi ! Barclays directors and shareholders…
Here it is for the record…
And I quote…
“Are you fucking wankers on the same fucking planet ?
Any of you cunts ever heard of the word ‘integrity’ ?”
Because quite frankly I have my doubts ?
So we’ve hit a snag…
No bank account unless I falsify information.
Try a building society… And it’s exactly the same deal…
I have to pretend that she’s been here for ages and get all my bills and standing orders changed to include her name, and then and only then, can she have a bank account ?
Fuck ‘em !
It ain’t gonna happen.
Now I’m at war and if they don’t like it, then it’s just tough shit !
There is no way I’m going for that, so let’s meet these cunts head on and see what occurs…
‘No I won’t back down… You can stand me up at the gates of hell, but I won’t back down…’
And thank you Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers for the appropriate quote from the song…
Just on the off-chance we tried H.S.B.C…
“We do have an account that we can open for your wife but she will have to pay to use it for the first year and then it will revert to a normal current account…”
And otherwise ?
“Otherwise we’d have to ask you to do the same as Barclays did…”
Ok…
I object in principle but I’ll pay for it because she needs a bank account.
(It’s called a ‘passport account’ if you’re interested, and it costs a tenner a month for them to ‘administer’ it)
But it’s hers, and nothing to do with me.
She gives the guy her details, shows her passport (get it ?) and the account is opened with fifty quid of my money…
Ho hum…
Does anybody else get the idea that banks are the most usurious and unhelpful institutions on the planet ?
I’m not knocking H.S.B.C. because they actually opened an account for her, but come on…
How long have I been a customer at Barclays for Christ’s sake ?
Sorry Barclays, but I’m not going to forget your unhelpfulness…

The agency are now calling with offers of jobs…
And finally the official form turns up for the National Insurance number…
Get this…
‘Thank you for attending the interview… Here is your new National Insurance number. Please give it to your employer etc…’
Hang on…
Interview ?
Did I miss something ?
She answered a couple of questions over the ‘phone like ‘full name’ and ‘permanent address’ but an interview ?
No… There was no interview.
Anyway, we fill out some of the form but I’m thinking that there is one huge glitch somewhere ?
Shouldn’t she get a National Insurance number AFTER she’s filled out the form and not beforehand ?
Then I notice the bits on the form that apply to me…
Hang on…
I’m not the one applying for a National Insurance number…
I’ve had the same one since 1969.
Haddy asks me for the details they want, and I tell her to leave it blank.
I don’t believe they have the right to my personal data on her form so they can get stuffed, too…
Or in other words…
FUCK OFF !
It’s just more officious bureaucratic bullshit to put in their unsafe computer system.
I’m not applying for a number, my wife is… So leave me out of it, please…
I never did find out what the ‘Plus’ meant in Job Centre Plus but I believe they left out the word ‘incompetence’ at the end ?
Job Centre Plus incompetence…
That certainly has a ring to it…
Sounds right, too.
Needless to say we hear nothing back from Job Centre Plus about the lack of my details, so the reality is it’s a ruse to get your private information that they don’t need onto another governmental computer system…
Big Brother is definitely alive and well.
But we knew that all along, didn’t we ?
We just didn’t really want to admit it to ourselves…

You ever get that feeling that everything is broken and just doesn't work anymore ?

Why's ? Lies and Crucifies...

Back home I’m just going through the motions.
If there is one thing I hate it’s an enforced separation, but within a couple of weeks Haddy has applied to the British High Commission with all the documentation and the six hundred and forty four quid needed to process the visa application…
And so we wait in a form of limbo for anything resembling news or contact from their august highnesses whose hands (or in-trays) are holding our lives in their hands.
And we wait…
And we wait…
And we wait…
After another dispiriting phone call I suggested to Haddy that she asks a couple of people she knows whether the High Commission are actually processing visas at the moment ?
Apparently they are…
But only visitors visas.
Leave it another week and try again.
Same answer.
You know…
I don’t have a lot of time for bureaucracy as some people are aware.
It gets nowhere and breeds more resentment and contempt for those who enforce it than even I could put into words.
There is no need for it and it’s just an egomaniac’s misuse of authority at best and a total pillock’s at worst.

Finally, I get the call…
They are talking to her tomorrow.
Oh shit !
You know when you agree to do something for somebody and the day is put off and put off and finally you’re both in the same place and time frame ?
Well that was me.
I’d agreed to be an artists model, nudeish no less, for my mate Jo Taylor who I’d done the
Twist of Fete gig for, and that was the same day that Haddy would be getting her interview…
Oh bum !
Jo had actually asked me to be Jesus in one of her artworks and like a twat, I’d said yes I’d do it…

And here's Jo and me in a practice pose for our new photo' book,
Kinky Poses Volume 5...





The idea was to show the humiliation and degradation of the poor bloke being crucified and so I was nude apart from a strategically placed bandana on my head and a pair of enormous white Y-fronts.
Honestly, you had to see it to believe it ?
So there I was…

Stark bollock naked except for the afore mentioned clothing when my mobile rang…
It was Haddy, and she was having problems.

The following are rough but accurate resumes of some of the conversations…

Haddy. “Darling, they want to know if you are going to sponsor the children ?
Me. Ask them what they mean by sponsor in the context they are using the word
and I’ll answer it ?
Haddy. He says the answer is either yes or no

Me. Tell him to define the word ‘sponsor’. How the hell can I answer otherwise ?
Put him on, let me speak to him…
Haddy. He says the answer is either yes or no…
Me. No ! The answer is, he’s playing games… I can’t possibly answer it unless I understand the question. Is he refusing to answer it ?
Haddy. He says it’s either yes or no ?

Well, we got nowhere with that, so try this one…

Haddy. They want to know how much you spend on bills per month ?
Me. Between £500 and £1000 approximately, depending on the month.
Haddy. They want an amount, dear…
Me. That’s ridiculous… No two months are the same… Why are they asking ?
Anyway, they’ve got six months of my bank account details sitting in front
of them, let them do the adding up and take a percentage…
Haddy. Darling, they say you have to give an amount…
Me. That is impossible… Ask him why he won’t speak to me ?
Haddy. He isn’t saying anything…
Me. Tell me something I don’t know… It’s an impossible question, no two months
are the same.

So we got nowhere with that either… Now try this one…

Haddy. They don’t believe I worked for the council…
Me. This is getting stupid… Tell them to e-mail L** M**** He’s the bloody manager
for God’s sake ! We both worked for him. You’ve got the photographs, for
God’s sake ?
Haddy. They don’t believe me, dear…
Me. Just tell him to check the facts and stop playing games, or better still, put
the Phone on loudspeaker ‘cos I’m going to explode in a minute and I want
that unhelpful bastard to hear every word…

Needless to say, she didn’t…

Haddy. They want to know how you intend to fit me into your flat ?
Me. I don’t have a flat. I have a four bedroomed house and what is more they know
that, they’ve got the house deeds sitting in front of them. Otherwise why did
I shell out for a certified copy of them down the solicitor’s ?
They’re just trying to get you to make a mistake in what you are telling them
and it’s beginning to piss me off, but that’s what our wonderful government
has told them to do, love…
Tell ‘em to read the bloody documents instead of implying, inferring and
twisting everything you say…

And so we went on, and on, and on, and on… A phone call approximately every seven minutes for about an hour.

What I didn’t realise at the time is that she’s having to do the whole thing by
e-mail so it makes it even more difficult.
Pissed off ?
Yeah… You could say that.
You could also say what the fuck do these bastards think they are playing at ?
I appreciate that the Tories had won the recent election by promising to cut the tide of illegal freeloaders coming into the country, but this was absolutely fucking offensive…
Haddy rang back to say she had finished and she was now at home…
Now we could only wait.

It’s going to be fun at work tomorrow !!!!

Rhythms of the World came and went in July.
I had a good if busy time and everybody who played the Arcadeclectic Stage managed to either equal or exceed expectations.
Along with my old mate Grant Meaby from Parnassus performance



who just casually went into a great poetry set...












Mention must be made of Mr Glen Matlock



Who's a nice bloke and very underrated as a songwriter, and... Does a great acoustic set which as a former Sex Pistol, he isn't actually known for.
Entertaining, witty, fun and talented... The man is a natural.
Get to see him when you can.

The Astronauts...



Who were playing the complete 'Peter Pan Hits The Suburbs' album for the very first time in their thirty year existence.

Jon Falconer...



Who we’d met at Twist of Fete and who’d replaced a missing poet at very short notice.

The Ballachulish Hellhounds who’d come all the way down from Glasgae...



And who by the end of their set would be quite at home as Hitchin Hellhounds...
They would definitely be invited back.

Miss Saxy lady...












Sandra Grant, who graces any stage she's on quite naturally...



Spandex Ballet, who quite honestly stole the show over the two days...















and Zounds...



Who had re-formed earlier in the year and were playing their only British festival date of the year for us.
For me those were the standouts but the rest were equally as good in their own niches and lets face it, it’s only personal taste on the day, anyway.


After about a month of waiting a very furious me contacted his M.P. to demand to know what was happening ?
I never did get to talk to him but his assistant did say that immigration was causing the most amount of complaints and I’d just have to be patient…
Well, that’s not surprising is it ?

Now it’s August and we’re off to Cropredy to see Fairport Convention except there is still no Haddy…
















Note the t-shirt...
That's about as close as the family are going to get this year.

Christ did it rain ?
It pissed down in buckets as Ruth, Joseph and Steve will definitely attest...

















I know ‘Croppers’ is famous for it especially if Richard Thompson is playing, but he wasn’t there this year so we all vainly hoped…
Alas, it was not to be.
We got soaked.




Honourable mentions must be made of ahab who are a great little folkie band, Leatherat, who are a great rock band that sound a bit like The Levellers but without the crusty political shit and are definitely on my must see again list...
And the amazingly talented...















and wonderfully professional... Little Feat...









Who really did steal the show this year I think ?


Despite having to make the announcement to the crowd that Richie Hayward, their original drummer from day one, had died the previous day.
It was a sad announcement for us fans who had seen the band previously, but they played on... For Brother Ritchie...
He'll be missed.

Aw shit !
Haddy would have loved them.
She would have known most of the stuff they played because we were always playing them in the van when we were travelling between woods.
Mind you… she’d have been a bit put out by the rain…
Bloody stuff was incessant.

Another month passes, Now it’s September… And finally I get the phone call…
Can I please ring the High Commission by twelve noon tomorrow ?
Well, I thought I could but the system went down at half past eight and didn’t recover so now I’m frantically trying to e-mail…
Help !
Who can fix the computer ?
Josh.
I’ll tell you what, that guy is a lifesaver.
Within half an hour I’ve got through and I asked what the problem had been ?

'Oh, we’ve got a new system, didn’t anybody tell you ?
They should have done because instead of taking five weeks (and no checks) like it did under Blair and Brown’s Labour Government, it now takes a minimum of ninety days because everything is being checked thoroughly…
I’m surprised nobody told you… They should have done'
Hmmm ?
Makes you wonder why Steven McPartland my new Tory M.P. didn’t, doesn’t it ?
We’d just got rid of Barbara Follett for ripping us off for over forty thousand quid in dishonest expense claims…
So now I want to know why McPartland couldn’t have been a little more honest with me ?
Only two possibilities spring to mind…
Either he didn’t know in which case he’s incompetent, or he’d been told not to...
In which case he’s an unhelpful self-serving git ?
Ain’t that just like an M.P.
Only interested in themselves and furthering their career ?
Fuck the constituents.
They don’t count for shit at the end of the day.
No real change there, then.

Three days later Haddy is on the line…
She’s been granted the visa she needs but the downside is that she won’t be able to claim for anything.
Not a fucking thing…
Every freeloading jihadist, every freeloader from Europe, every freeloading cunt from Britain… All can claim for everything going, but because my wife is African she can’t claim for anything…
And you know what the sickest thing is ?
It was the Labour government that ensured it.
So much for Labour being the people’s party.
A more corrupt bunch of self serving cunts hadn’t been seen in parliament since the days of the rotten boroughs.
They’d brought the price up from about thirty quid to a couple of hundred just for a visitors visa from the most poverty stricken continent on the planet when they realised the B.N.P. had been getting more support than they used to, because they wanted immigrants to be grateful to them and so they would vote for them.
Because of the treaty in Europe all the Europeans flocked in to claim their free houses and since most of those were white, then the B.N.P. wouldn’t notice the amounts…
And by and large, it had worked.
Unless you had a large immigrant ghetto on your doorstep, then the B.N.P. would stay quieter because they were unable to notice the immigrants…
Not black or brown, you see ?
And it had worked perfectly as the vote for the B.N.P had tailed off when it had mattered to them.
If you don't believe me then try looking up the prices of visas to the U.K. from other countries.
Europeans don't count, but what about from the U.S.A, Australia, Japan and China ?
I've already looked them up, now it's your turn.
Why are their citizens charged next to nothing compared to the African countries ?

We'd encountered problems with Rhythms of The World this year.
We'd booked Daniel 'Dante' Bello, a South African poet with family over here already so staying wouldn't be a problem, and who had a British publisher of his work...
The application was refused.

Now after the influx from Europe, this country is left with a huge welfare bill and no council housing…
And because of that my wife will never be part of David Cameron’s ‘Big Society’ because being unable to claim a thing, she is officially a second class citizen…
Every freeloading cunt in this country has more rights than she does.
How sad is that ?
Do I despise this country and those who caused this state of affairs ?
Is the Pope a Catholic ?
Do bears shit in the woods ?
What a fucking stupid question ?
Although the word despise doesn’t even come close to how I feel.

She’s got a couple of things to sort out but she’ll be flying into Gatwick in about a week…
It drains you, you know ?
Drains you totally.
I just felt numb.
Christ !
What have those bastards done to us ?