Whole of January passed with no work to invoice, so poverty looms. Management say I will have to move to the work house if I don’t start paying my way. Pay to be here? WTF! I didn’t want to be here in the first place! ‘Those tissues aren’t free,’ they say. ‘Think we can keep the heating on all day just so you can mope around? Do some work.’

Or what? Or I’m thrown out? Bring it on! No, I just get my living quarters down-graded. And if I end up in the workhouse, I have to work anyway AND have a shit room. So – this IS the workhouse, nor am I out of it. Top-hatted capitalist-pig publishers with a whip – let’s go.


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