Ooh, am I upsetting the housing division?

My support worker's just phoned in a bit of a tiz it would seem.

"What does the Tory councillor want? What doesn't he know? He should know the housing policy."

"I don't know," I reply. "He says you guys tell him one thing and I tell him another. You ask him."

Suddenly, the support worker offers me a "Direct Let".

"Ooh, a direct let?"

This is not a Direct Let into a council property, no such luck. It's staying where I am under the Private Rental Sector as opposed to the Homeless Register.

He says, which is I'll admit the sweetener for me, that my points under the new system will be allocated to me immediately; I won't be suspended from bidding for six months which is currently how the PRS works. He says, however, that I will lose my medical points. I will have to 're-apply' for them.

"I'm not convinced I'll be better off. I'll still be in exactly the same position but the council can wash its hands off me can't it? I'm not a homeless statistic anymore, it can carry on pushing me from pillar to post as it has done for years."

"I know it has yeah," he says and I'm grateful for the recognition. Then he makes sure that his position is safe, that nothing that comes out of the meeting with the Tory, might point a finger of culpability at him.

"I'm just a pleb from the council, not a hotshot. You've talked to all the big managers and they're not doing anything, I just report from them."

"I know and that's the bloody problem. That's why I asked the Tory to help me because no-one will or can. For fucks sake I could become the Poster Girl for these elections for all the wrong bloody reasons."

"A poster girl? What.. you.."

"I'm joking but that Tory will see that these policies are a fucking disaster."

He says he'll see me Wednesday afternoon with his manager and the Tory. I tell him the Tory emailed me this morning saying he couldn't do Wednesday and I've just emailed the manager to ask him which of the dates he'd like that the Tory's suggested.

Fucking hell. I'm going to have three men in my living room sometime next week. Two of them saying how they are doing the best for me, following the policy and the guidelines, taking orders from their managers. While the other belongs to a party which ideologically does not believe in council housing, is quite happy auctioning off the stock.

What a fucking laugh I don't think so.

Fuck, what can I say? What can I do?

Tidy up you say stiggers? My mind is a mess, I need to clear that up first so I can put my bloomin' thinking cap on.