Hot on the heels of no access to Pathmead's housing officer, the council's support worker calls. Tis good I still have a relationship with him, even if it is pointless these days. I've arranged with Tory Councillor for a meeting? No, I say, Tory has arranged it with me (I don't have bright ideas like that...) Support worker tells me his manager can sit down with us next week.
I rather hoped for a bit better than that, somebody who actually houses others at their discretion but there you go.
Support Services Manager then rings me. Next Wednesday OK? For me yes. I ask where.
"At your flat?"
"At my flat? I better tidy up then, or maybe not. Last time a manager came into my flat I was told it was a health and safety issue and I was a danger to my son. I was told I wouldn't be rehoused on account of it. Fine we'll do it in my flat."
I email Tory. It might not be Wednesday, he might not be free. We'll see.
My flat ey? What have those two men got in store for them I wonder? Somewhere impartial I might be able to keep calm. In this flat, where I'm so used to hearing "prs or hostel for you.." I might find myself spitting kitchen appliances.
Interesting though. Very interesting. I feel bullied and threatened by the alternatives I'm given, as you well know.
What will the Tory say?
I must prepare myself for this. Stiggers me baby, I'll be reading you on Tuesday night, for a little motherboard refresher. I forget so easily, I'm so glad you force me to write.