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Friday, 9 July 2021

pay inequality: a reckoning

On the last day of summer term July 2020 the end of year assembly was done remotely it was an online assembly of bubbles.  Parents with their children at home, teachers and staff on a working at home day accompanied by their pets and other family members admin staff in an empty office or their garden shed and some class bubbles such as mine that included children of key workers and staff who were able to work on site while the country was in lockdown.

SEN education under the restrictions of Covid had many extra challenges.   The students soon learnt to wash hands more frequently and more thoroughly, the young people in our bubble became expert hand-washers.  They soon became accustomed to having a pack of stationary and equipment for personal use only, we'd colour coded each pack as a reference system to make sure this students were using thier designated resources.  We'd arranged the space and planned activites according to the governments social distancing guidelaines and staff and students had to very little preparation to adapt to this new ways of doing all our activities.  The smaller class sizes allowed time and space for more one - to - one interactions.  We were able to plan activities tailoured to the specific needs and targets of the individual students in our bubble.  We were off timetable so time was managed according to the rythms of the students.  Work was begun when they were ready and activities ended naturally and without manic panic clean-ups, work cycles were maintaned allowing students to clean up and look after our space thus developing those all important personal health and social skills. The students have responded well to this free-flow style and benefitted from the extra attention.  We've developed a lively social space with lots of chirpy banter, joy and laughter. 

 On the last day of the school year the staff and students in my bubble assembled in front of the large plasma screen. The assembly began with a slide from the Senior Leadership Team (SLT).  They'd created computer generated images of themselves to share at the end of year assembly.  'Guess who that is playing a guitar?' yes, good guess children, that's R an ... who do you think that one is? The one in the middle with long hair and glasses? ... Yes, that's right, that's me.  On our side of the screen there was a loud GULP came from me followed by a dash to the door and quick exit.  I'd thought I might actually be sick. I then left the building through the Food Tech Room and out for some fresh air.  Was that for real? I asked myself picking a sprig of scented rosemary from the neglected raised bed and giving it a good sniff for some sensory rebalance. I calmed myself and returned to the classroom to catch the last of the  perfunctory comments saying goodbye to some lucky escapees who'd secured alternative employment. Then came the last slide to wish everyone a happy summer holiday period. That final image was in the same style as the opening one only a whole lot worse.  It was a beach scene showing computer generated images of the admin and senior leadership team in their swimwear. The principal was at the centre of the imagely arms and legs flailing as she lay suspended on a jet of water spurting out of a whale's blowhole.  In the knowledge that we're invisible to them, we started banging on the tables, kicking out then bits of orange peel, pizza crusts, screwed up balls of paper got lobbed at the screen. The students had already left the assembly and relocated to the outside area.  We joined up them and prepared to leave for the summer break, it had been a long and difficult time but we'd been a good team and done our best.

A couple of weeks later, during the blissfull respite that is the summer hols for workers in education, I needed to be in contact with my employer to check if I had a new contract for the year ahead.  On opening my mail I read a correspondence from the principal.  She'd sent us a link to webpage.  The webpage was a list of outdoor activities for children.  By way of introduction to the webpage she'd said that as we would be continuing to do as much of our learning with the students outside in the autumn term begining in September that she was forwarding some ideas for our perusal over the summer. The information she shared had a list of recommended outdoor activites for young people and among these were cloudwatching and smelling flowers.  Fuck, she gets paid 4-times my salary to sit in an office and share such extremely mundane bullshit.  She is full of bullshit, her job is bullshit, off with her head!  She's a waste of time and money.

I was offloading this trauma to my sister a couple of days ago.  She works at a support centre for  autistic adults.  The organisation she works for is a charity and employs a fundraiser. This shouldn't be necessary but there's little state support for adult social care and local authority budgets have been cut by half in the last decade. This fundraiser gets paid at least twice as much as the support workers who do the actual hands on work with the young adult service users.  Anyway, she came up with a fundraising plan that involved low paid staff standing outside supermarkets with donation buckets in their free time!! 

We console ourselves with this work place oppression through laughter and by spending our free time weekends doing activities for pleasure in attempts to regain some dignity and to look after our well-being. We try to distract ourselves and each other from the rage and despair that goes wil low-pay and the blatant  pay inequalty that is so systemic.  It can't be ignored. It hurts.


Sunday, 3 January 2021

What do CEOs do? Drinkall?

Many people working in education have caught the virus and the November lockdown did nothing to stop its spread.  In the SEN college where I work there are many clinically vulnerable young people and it is terrifying news that one of our pupils is currently very ill with Covid, however, that anxiety isn't the main point of this writing.  I get that, even during a pandemic, schools and colleges should be open for young people to access education and be with their peers and I'm committed to my role as a learning support assistant.  My problem is with the politics of privatization and the current administration of education that maintains poverty wages for people like me working in schools while the system's administrators are fast becoming Fat Cats. Damn them for this extortion and for the policy of privatization supports it.

I've struggled this term to accept the massive compromise we're having to make under Covid: students and staff are confined to class bubbles.  Within these bubbles we are doing our best to avoid close contact with each other; our best defence agains spread of the virus. Many educational activities that were previously enjoyed collectively such as PD and assemblies are now delivered virtually. I'm uncomfortable with the amount of time the young people are spending looking at  screens in college; although we do make a huge effort to counter that with fitness (through Joe Wicks workouts) and as much outside time as possible (constrained by timetabling because only one class can be occupy an outside space at any one time). It's impressive how the young people have adapted to this virtual world that now replaces real life contact.  On a positive note, it's impressive how pupils have adapted to presenting themselves on screen and can now participate enthusiastically with live streaming events such as whole school assemblies with competance and enthusiasm. The pupils somehow seem to  tollerate the distorted sound and glitchy visuals that make some of these sessions quite a strain on the senses. I have not mangaged to adapt so well. Last night, that marked the end of the Christmas term, I came home, ate, honoured my committment to Zoom meeting among a Labour Left group and the had to shut down: no more noise, no more people talking, no more talking myself, I needed to just shut down and to rebalance.  My job is sometimes exhausting. Being locked in a bubble can be noisy, claustrophobic and dissatisfying.  

Added to that is the political backdrop of winter 2020/202. We're being dictated to by the terrible Tory twits trying to run the country; telling us who we can and can't meet up with and where and at what times;  an unwelcome intrusion on into personal lives. Like most people, I'm doing everything I possible can not to pass on the virus, or catch it myself, but I don't need this pesky government telling me what to all the time.  Feeling infuriated by the Government's policy of outsourcing essential services, the most recent example being Serco getting public money to operate 'test and trace' that has failed to check the spread of the virus.  The outcome of that is the shameful statistic of 70,000 deaths (at the time of writing) in the UK. I continue to be infuriated by the Tory agenda of privatisation that outsources essential services in healthcare and education. These private enterprises are serving themselves. I have anxieties about the future.  Predications show that we can expect increasing unemployment and a continuation of austerity with further cuts to local authority budgets.  This nightmarish scenario of the future is already being realised by a recent announcement of a pay freeze for local government employees. Me and my collegues will continue to earn less than the real living wage.

Feeling cornered, caged and concerned, I got an email from Julian Drinkall, the CEO of the Academy Trust that runs the SEN college where I work.  He announced, in rather self congratulatory tone, that he's hired a new recruit to work directly under him for the purpose  ... hmmm, for what purpose? ... I'm thinking as I scroll down the message: as a buffer to protect his postion in case of future reducncies? As someone to actually do the work he is responsible for so he has more time for CEO responsibilities such as discussing pie charts over corporate lunches?  To bring in a collegue to form a team of exceptionally privileged workers that share the cream and thus Julian Drinkall becomes less exceptional?  I don't really know what a CEO actually does day-to-day.  Maybe we could swop roles for a day and find out?  What do you say to that Jules?  You spend a day in my bubble (PPE is currently available from the PC room in the corridor) and I'll sit at your desk and peruse pie charts, or whatever it is that you do, ... I'd like to find out.  I suppose it's unlikely that Mr Drinkall will accept my proposal so I'll carry on with trying to express my concerns and channel my fury.  After reading his announcement of a new recruit in senior management I started wondering about the salary of said new recruit.  And then I started wondering about the salary of our CEO. I asked him and he said that his income was public information so I Googled "Julian Drinkall AET annual salary' and the result showed that he earns £264,000.  Blimey! That's 17 times my salary.  The search result also showed that last year he milked a bonus of £26,000! That means that his annual bonus last year more that double my annual income as an LSA.  It's my labour that is supplying data for his graphs and pie charts!!!  What does he do to get such a generous share?  This is taxpayers money.  It has been designated for education. What on earth does the CEO of an academy chain actually do to claim such a huge portion for himself? 

What do CEOs do?  What does CEO stand for? Cumulative Extortion Operator?  Corporate Employee Overseer? Captain of Empty Office?  I could Google it but I'm not going to.  My job as an LSA is very real.  I work as part of a great team supporting the young people in getting the best possible education and experience at the college.  Why does that role have so much less value than that of Mr. Drinkall the CEO?  

https://app.croneri.co.uk/whats-new/uk-s-largest-academy-chain-faces-major-dispute

 


Monday, 1 June 2020

back to school - no books allowed

Today is my inset day tomorrow I'm onsite and had been looking forward to getting back to work at a SEN education college.

Today I've had a morning of virtual meetings outlining expectations for operating during Covid 19. I'm truly horrified.  My question to management this morning was how long will these extreme measures be place? I didn't ask it.  I know the answer.  They don't know.  All we do know is that this is the way the our society will be operating until further notice.  I don't feel like being a participant.

Makes me feel like I want to stay home and play guitar and grow vegetables.  Trouble is, I need to earn money to pay for the electricity to power my guitar and I need Internet access to remain in contact with my friends and family, so I must work.

The college admin staff have clearly got together and devised a plan to minimize the risk of passing any Covid-19 transmissions between people on the campuses. These measures are to make the college compliant with the Government's latest rules for social distancing.  I fear I won't be able to tollerate these conditions.  I'm begining to subscribe to conspiracy theories that are pointing fingers at authorities and accusing them of using the virus to put in place very strict means for social control.    Practices that are set up to keep us fearful and thinking that we're in need of protection.  I fear my complicity in that agenda perhaps that more than I fear the virus. 

Providing education during the Covid 19 pandemic will look like this: on arrival at college, staff must sign in and take their temperature using the new stock of thermometers the institution has ordered. The students too will have their temperature taken on arrival at College.  Students must bring packed lunches in disposable containers and we mustn't share pencils or scissors or glue.  All books and resources will be taken out of classrooms and each student will have resources in personal packs: there is a strict - no sharing - policy.  Staff and students have been allocated to a particular bubble and we are to remain in those bubbles and do our best not to have any physical communication with people in other bubbles.  Staff room is closed.  Soft play areas and sensory rooms closed.  Gym and swimming pools closed.  Outside play only allowed in bubbles and outside equipment can only be used if it can be disinfected before and after use by each individual student.

A strategy of the management team is to give us frequent praise for working under these conditions and treats.  I've just read an email to say that this week complementary tubs of ice-cream will be given out to workers who will be onsite.  And, there is a rule that staff and students must wear clean clothes each day, we can ask for clothes washing tablets,  to ensure this new rule is complied with.

I'm upset. Ice-cream won't help.



Wednesday, 25 March 2020

Covid 19 26/03/2020

Where do I begin?

I've been mute.  This virus has shut me up.  The rage that usually fuels my outbursts is clouded by fear. Partly down to fear of the unkown from the virus; this microorganism that is spreading among us. The virus is spreading fear in such a way that we can't see it or smell it or really understand it  but deeper than fear of the virus itself is fear of my potential for complicity in bad decisions.  I don't trust decision-makers at a time like this.  I don't understand the nature of that fear.  I don't know if distrust is rational or grounded in truth and experience.  Past experience tells me that those in power serve to protect their power and this clouds their vision such that they don't see the human impact of thier policies and decisions.

This virus is a rather abstract thing but I think it's the cause of this stomach churning nausea I've been getting for the past couple of weeks, as well as sore throat days, and runny nose days and days when I'm popping pills to ignore the headaches.  On those days there's pay back at nights with vivid dreams that then continue to haunt me during the next day.  The image of this virus used by media makes the deadly organism rather pretty. It shows a red floaty orb with trippy mushroom like obtrusions on its outer surface. It's an intriguing image and looks like it could be used as a model for a christmas tree decoration.  It's a wonderful wee organism and it lives in human tissue.  It gets transferred from one person on to the next through snot, saliva, blood, sweat and tears - do we even know?

Last week, as a routine activity in my job, I was swimming with SEN child.  The child is classified as having profound and multiple learning difficulties; he's also a lively, sociable, engaging and sometimes stroppy 12 year old.  In his swimming session I supported hiim by keeping his head above water as he's a 'nil by mouth' student. I had his head resting on my shoulder and my arms around his chest and we kicked around in the pool together and he coughed occasionally, that was OK, he always coughs because he doesn't have the muscle control or the strength to ever get the mucus off his chest. It was the first time I'd taken this particular child swimming.  I was pleased that he trusted me. I knew he trusted me by the intense look in his eyes. It's a look he does when he's really choosing to communicate.  He was gurrgling happily for me while we hoisted him in and out of the water and rubbed dry his stiff limbs before getting him dressed and back to class. I sensed trust in that smile he gave me with his eyes. I'd felt encouraged by his communication, it was great feedback. We'd had a good session. It's often meaningful and enjoyable work.

I travel to work on public transport.  I take the 7.24 am from Wivenhoe Station.  Waiting on the platform on cold winter mornings like this morning I can look down the long line of people waiting to board the train and see little clouds of exhaled air.  I'm seeing moisture condensing as it leaves warm bodies and is set adrift in the cold morning air.  We board the train when it pulls up at the station. It's warm in the carraige so people take off their coats and arrange themselves for their journey to work.  I like to sit by the window and where I can look out at the estuary and enjoy the relative peace and quiet before the train gets more crowded futher down the line to London.  By the time it gets to Chelmsford there is standing room only.  Chelmsford is my stop and it's a busy station. As I get off the train I'm mindful that I might bash into someone or catch them with my bag as I'm reaching into it for my pass to tap out at the barrier.  We line up at the barrier and tap out one behind the other as the cheery guy at the exit says good morning to each and every passenger as they pass through the barrier on their way out of the station.

I walk past rough sleepers under the railway bridge. They often have a hot drink or a half eaten carton of chips by their bedside. I'm saddened by society every day I walk past people sleeping on the streets but I walk on.  The next point in my journey to work is the pedestrian crossing at a road junction.  I've usually caught up with hoards of children heading on their way to the nearby schools.  We wait, huddled together, on the narrow pavement.  On that narrow pavement there's lots of banter, often someone coughs, another sneezes, mouths are opening and closing, hands on cereal bars and mobile phones and on and off the button that will stop the traffic and turn on the green symbol telling us it's safe to cross the road.  This is my commute to work to a SEN school.  Last Friday it was announced that schools were to close and public exams were being cancelled. SEN schools were to remain open to protect vulnerable children so I continue to go to work. Work that involves personal care routines and unavoidable close contact with other staff and students.

It's confusing.  The Government is telling everybody to stay at home.  There are police on the streets to force people to comply. But I must go to work. There is no plan to test workers in education, no  hand sanitiser, and there have been no precautionary measures. Now however, it has been announced that the swimming pool and gym areas are closed and a deep clean is scheduled for April.

On Monday I went to work.  We're now on a 2-day on; 2-day off rota.  Tomorrow I'm scheduled to go to work.  Today I'm not feeling well.  What is this heavy chesty feeling I have today?  Was that sore throat I had on Friday and Saturday real or was I making it up?  I don't have much energy today.  I'm still in bed and undressed. I needed a mid morning lie down today.  Am I ill? Or is this just the fear expressing itself? Have I caught the virus and spread it around?  How are those students that won't be coming in to college for 12 weeks? I think about them often.  On Friday, after the students had left, I found myself with a colleague outside on the grassy bank trying to realise the situation; she said, "I know I've said good-bye to some for the last time".  I wasn't sure what she meant. She clarified the situation; "it's very likely that some of my students will die during this pandemic". 

I want to stay at home.  I don't want to be a key worker and to be spreading the virus.  But this is the first stable job I've had for years.  My first job ever with a healthcare plan (I got £50 for a new pair of glasses) and it pays pension contributions.  It's minimum wage - below the real living wage - far from comfortable income but it's meaningful work and I need a job.  I want to cry and my chest feels tight.  Does my chest feel tight because I'm sick? Or is it anxiety?   How's that student? Is my colleague with Asthma OK today?  I had a sore throat on Friday and Saturday and Sunday.  Monday and Tuesday a runny nose.

What the hell is going on?

Friday, 27 December 2019

Me and Nazanine Zaghari-Radcliffe

Some weeks ago I found myself talking to Richard Radcliffe.  We'd just watched Nazanine's Story.  It was a play about his family and events of the past 3 and half years. The play was about the arbitrary detention his of wife Nazanine in an Iranian jail. She'd been detained at Tehran airport on her way home to London from a regular visit to her family with her then 21 month old daughter.  The play tracked her detention in April 2016 to the present when, in real life their daughter Gabriella has just returned to live in London with her father Richard Radcliffe; Nazanine's husband.  The 5-year old girl is now disconnected from her mother and the family she has known for the past 3 and a half years and Nazanine is still in Evin prison for allegations of  plotting against the Government of the Islamic Republic of Iran.

I watched the play at the Lakeside Theatre, University of Essex with my Iranian born son Ben.  I'd had mixed feelings about going to see the play.  Part of me wanted to ignore the horror, to turn away, close my eyes and put my hands over my ears so as not to hear their cries, not to remember. I didn't want to get upset and get distracted from my mission to just get on with my life. To get on with my life because I'm not in Evin prison today.  I often think to myself - hey, I'm not in prison today - but it's never a very happy or particularly liberating realisation. Because there's Nazanin Zahari Radcliffe and at least 30 other dual nationals that whose lives are being spent in arbitrary detention in Iranian jails.

Since the first alarming news of Nazanine's detention I'd been following the horror as it's unfolded.  Each press release reporting the unlucky arbitrary detention allowed me to get immersed in their story.  Those headlines in the Guardian giving updates on Nazanine's detention somehow served to ease my breath, her trials and their anguish gave me an uncomfortable sense of well-being.  Following thier story allowed me to relax and take stock of where I was at.  I was not in prison. There's an episode in my life-story that I don't talk about much. I keep it quiet because it's an experience that is awkward to share. It remains buried: deep under a pile of more easily relatable anecdotes and life experiences.  At times I have told and been left feeling like some kind of paraniod fantasist. If I do talk about it I've learned that it's best to keep it light-hearted and easily digestable.  It's becaome a survival story.
 
Now I'm safe, living another episode of my life-story and I'm living as a regular, ordinary person.  Living in a secure home with a job that just about pays the bills if I'm resourceful. I didn't act on the job, offer, I'm not a spy and I'm not in prison.   Life is OK for me these days.  The panic attacks are less frequent and my body is less uptight and my outlook is more often upwards at the clouds and less around corners.  I can now walk up and down the streets in daylight and at night, cycle around town and hop on and off buses and trains feeling the freedom of anonymity.  I carry a mobile phone and leave it switched on becauase I have no reason to think I'm of any concern for the authorities.  Some habits haven't changed. I still like to run. I feel safe if I can run. So I keep fit and alert. I've learned to expect the unexpected and to feel safe in the knowledge that I'm prepared for fight or flight just in case.

I'd wanted to watch the play with my Ben. I wanted Ben to know what it is to be half Iranian;.to have 2 bloodlines from politically opposed countries; to hold 2 passports and to have 2 alliegances. I'd hoped the play would communicate what it means to be a trans-national. Watching the play, I'd felt a deep connection to their story and wanted to talk to Richard Radcliffe who'd been sitting in the front row, watching actors portray the horror of his life over the past 3 and half years. After the performance Ben and I walked down the steps of the auditorium and approached Richard who was in conversation with actors, the producer and academics from the Human Rights Centre.

We got his attention, he looked at me, shook my hand kindly and there was so  much I wanted to say but just as his wife is stuck in Evin prison the words were stuck in my head.  I tried to say thank you for sharing, thanking him was offensive, as if we'd been suitably entertained by this horror so my next idea was to say I can't imagine how horrific this is for you.  No, I couldn't say that because I could imagine it. Maybe I could say I understand what you're going through.  Fuck, no I don't really understand, my experience doesn't justify saying that I understand their experience.  My understanding is a very superficial understanding of their deep and ongoing torment. Then I came up with the word connection.  Yes, that's it, I feel connected to your ...   Oh shit, to their ... what? He's been framing it as their story but I couldn't use that term, this isn't just a story, it's real and traumatic and is ongoing, he's living it. It's their life. I can't say it's a story to his face. Neither can I simply say that I liked the play, it would be like saying thanks, that was entertaining, what's on at Lakeside next Tuesday?  couldn't even bring myself to say it was good or just that I enjoyed the evening.   I looked at Richard, knowing his wife is locked up in Evin prison  looked around at the others, the actors in the play the host from the Essex Uni Human Rights centre, at my son Ben standing beside me and then I looked back at Richard, noticing his thinning hair and said,
'I feel a deep connection with your case'.

Watching the play, shaking hands with Richard Radcliffe and hearing of the family's new challenges as their daughter Gabriella adapts to life in London all enabled me to express huge my sense of relief.  But that sense of relief is matched by feelings of guilt. Guilt is an odd feeling. Why should I be feeling guilty just because I'm not in prison today? I suppose it could be understood as survivor's guilt.  It's survivors guilt because Nazanine's detention is arbitrary.

arbitrary |ˈɑːbɪt(rə)ri|
adjective
1 based on random choice or personal whim, rather than any reason or system: an arbitrary decision.


Nazanine Zaghari-Radcliffe was in Iran to visit her family. She wasn't there to plot against the regime.  Her detention is arbitrary and cruel.  It's an unbearable injustice.

Monday, 3 June 2019

Job Interview

I have a job interview on Wednesday.

I've been working in a school as a supply LSA (learning support assistant) since December, I earn £65/day.  I have an interview for the same job at the same school but employed directly rather than as a supply staff working for an agency.

The job is in Chelmsford, which is 29 miles from my home.

In preparation for the job interview I thought I'd better do some maths to figure out the material benefit of getting a full time job.  After all I'd be spending the time of my life doing that work. 

It's demanding work with significant responsibility.  I've been working in education for students with special needs.  I've been bitten, scratched and hit in the face, and by Fridays I'm generally exhausted.
However, I like working, I want to continue working, and I like that particular work.  I like being part of a team and I like working with the students and I very much like wearing a lanyard and riding the commuter train and going to work.  It makes me feel that I'm participating, like I'm being a good citizen, a good role model for my children and most importantly, after an agonizing period of  unemployment, it makes me feel that once again I have a derserving and rightful place in society.

However,
the job takes my time, as well as my energy and focus, and my time is my life. Nowadays, my weekends are spent cleaning my house, tending the vegetable plot, bike maintenance, looking after myself and family and freinds and preparing for the working week ahead, all pretty normal stuff.  Full time, means full time; there's not much time to focus in a meaningful way on other activities; it means that I never will get to master the theremin, I haven't even practiced once since I started full time work last December.

But needs must, and I'm fit for work.

So, here's the maths. My question was this; what material difference will a full time job and a stable income make to my life?

I was shocked by the answer.

Annual income   £13,000

Annual travel cost from Wivenhoe to Chelmsford         £2,400
Annual council tax bill                                                    £1,800
Rental value of my house    £750/month   or P/A           £9,000

I'm not pedantic, and just wanted a very rough costing, didn't want to scare myself or face the likely reality that even in full time work, I'd still be poor, so thought I'd  stick to those 3 basics; travel, rent and coucil tax.  Three unavoidable and fixed expenses, outgoings that couldn't be massaged by maintaining a strict household budget.  Other expenses such as phone, electricity, water, food, I thought, those can be juggled, so they're less important, and I just wanted a rough costing, just to check for viability before I commit my life to a full time job.

So I added those 3 basic costs; housing, travel to get to work and council tax and it came to

£13,200.

The job isn't viable.    

If something isn't viable it means it isn't going to work.


              

Sunday, 2 June 2019

F-rigging Facebook

FAcebook, as now know takes our data.  It does this because data has value. So it takes our data in return for using it's app that is in turn used as space to sell for advertising.

And we are the mugs.  Job seekers.

No income, eveyone wins they all get paid, but we who generate the data get used.  It's enough.  And to make it worse I thought as an add popped up on Facebook telling me that I could earn £1000/day as a model, of course I clicked on it and then today I found myself spending £38 on stuff I'll need for a photoshoot to get the photos I'll need to put together a portfolio if I have any chance of actually getting a job, even a low paid one, it has to be a scam.

It's all a scam

student loans to pay tuition fees

health insurance

even on my electricity bill which I paid today with money that can't be replaced, unless I get a modelling job, it has on the bill, a number to ring fot debt advice, ie. it is now normal that people can't pay their electricity bill, debt and financial struggles is normal, what the fuck is going on.

Well today I have 2 air bnb guests, ( I;ll be sleeping at my neighbour's house) that's £40, but I spent 40 today on toothpaste, tights and stuff I'll need for the photo shoot and tomorrows money will cover the cost of the train fare, shit. I am dum.  I am very dum.