The HPU, in a nutshell

Going there, on my own, without a social worker this time, was well, fucking scary, that's why I asked Stigmum to stay with me.

Cutting this story, right down, I eventually found its new premises.

"It's hell in here isn't it?" said a young mum who came in while I was sitting in the slimmed down waiting room. Her story, fucking hell. I didn't ask her if I could tell it but seven years, three children; these stories fuel my own fear. I took her number, I should text her. I will do when I finish posting all this.

In short my visit to "Hell on Earth" was a wasted journey for me. (As I write this I look out of the window and it's snowing! I told you it was ccccccccccold!)

Anyway, the council told me they would arrange for me to speak to a housing officer next year and I thought "I want to talk to one NOW."

When the woman (very nice) discovered I hadn't come off the streets, or swooped in from the private sector or any other avenue, but discovered instead I was on the council's very own homeless register she said:

"Really you should have a support worker."

"Oh I do, but unfortunately he can't do anything to help us."

She finally gets through to him and asks "What are you going to do to assist her?"

I hear the woman say "she will be offered temporary accommodation" and feel my bile rise, my bile that has to be kept under control.

"I want to get angry," I say.

"Some people do and it can work," she says.

Rrrrraaagghh why can't I make it work for my son???????????????????

In a nutshell, if you are statutory homeless you are already in the Bowels of Hell so there really is no need to go to the Gates of Hell.

I'm glad I didn't know this, I'm glad I went. Next August I will go again if my support worker is still not allowed to help me. Pointless, I know it's fucking pointless, but you, if you're still around reading this, will know just how fucked up this system is.

It's a Never Ending fucking Story isn't it Limahl only Stigmum's lyrics would be a bit different to yours.