Signing off...

The DWP (formerly known as the Department of Social Security) office in Redhill attracts an unusual and diverse group of people. Granted, many of them do have nose rings and tattoos, but these are just the single teenage mothers on sign-on day. There is, ocassionally, an Australian/Finnish citizen exercising his rights as an EU citizen.

I arrived for my inaugral meeting conspicuously devoid of any body art or dreadlocks, but they agreed to see me anyway. My intentions were honourable. I had been advised by the British High Commission in Australia to register with the DWP within the first three months of my arrival - it appears, for no apparant reason, other than to further erode my self-esteem.

The meeting was pleasant enough. I filled in a questionaire - then completed the correct paperwork. We talked about my personal and financial status, while I assured them that I wasn't a free-loader trying to rort the system - I just dropped in to tell them that I had arrived in the country.

Before I realised it they'd set up a candidate profile for me. I was given a list of benefits that I don't qualify for and now I have to go back every two weeks so they can monitor my progress in securing full-time employment - I feel like my status of 'self-funded' EU citizen has been re-classified to that of 'unemployed refugee'...