It was a pleasant enough journey back to Bradford, though I only got talking to a fellow passenger after Doncaster, a nice young woman who works for the University of Utrecht, who liked steam trains, armour, and who was going to try her luck in California! She laughed at my suggestion Alabama, Mississippi, and the other dustbowl states might be putting up fences to stop the dirt poor Silicon Valleyers getting in, using fences sold off by the bankrupt state of California.

It was raining when I got back, and it now feels cold, and I am well pissed off.

Yet another letter telling me my Housing Benefit has been stopped, because of a bureaucratic process which does not work and does not care. I now face hours challenging the decision, or rather forcing them to follow due process to start entitlement from when Income Support was resumed after the week in which I worked in the Polling Station (a job which has now proved worthless and painful as far as I am concerned).

I got a call from the local Department of Culture, Tourism and Sport; saying I could apply for a loss guarantee for the Priestley Night; but sitting down to write the application is turning into a nightmare. I had planned to do a second night if the first sold out quickly, but that is making the maths and the form really complicated, and even if I only do one night all this shit shoveling is time I am not rehearsing, and sorting other shows, and I do not even know if I am doing it.

As I write this I also realise that if I put down a wage for me in any application for loss guarantee (the only way I can make any money as things stand) that will make any dole claim even more complicated.

I obviously like a panic, I must do considering how many I make for myself, but it would be nice to have something work simply. The only good thing is that I am not sinking into depression because of all this; leastways not yet.