My apologies to His Satanic Majesty for using his space to continue airing grievances concerning financial problems [It's a pleasure to have you here—DK] - however, having yesterday narrated some ongoing issues with South Lanarkshire Council, I thought some readers might be interested in knowing how they have been resolved.
In order to do this, I'm afraid I'm going to have to break one of my own golden rules of blogging - no swearing. I don't do it on my own blog, and thus consider it rude and boorish to do it elsewhere; however, hopefully DK will excuse my boorishness in good grace, because right now I feel like fucking swearing.
I have not felt so angry since some Romanian cunt (and yes, I remember yer name, ya fuckin' bawbag) called me 'a stupid motherfucker'.
Upon speaking with South Lanarkshire Ccouncil this afternoon, it transpires that a demand for £494.00 had been sent out in respect of a total underpayment of - how much?
It was all for twenty fucking two fucking fucking cunting pounds.
For the grand sum of £22.00, South Lanarkshire Council were prepared to take me to law; to start procedures that could give complete strangers the power to enter my home, my fucking home, remove my belongings and sell them.
As I recounted yesterday, they fucked up the direct debit, so nothing was paid for the first two months of the Council Tax year. No, fuck that, I didn't fail to pay, they failed to collect. That's the fact of the matter. Given that the liability is payable over 10 months, that means that South Lanarkshire's own incompetence resulted in them failing to collect any money for 20% of the relevant payment period.
When the amended bill was issued in June, apparently I had to pay more each month because they had fucked up - so instead of having to pay £150.00 per month I should have been paying £161.00. The payment schedule shows that I've paid at least £150.00 per month since fucking June; but that doesn't fucking count.
The arithmetic of this matter is straightforward. They fuck up for 20% of the payment year - no comeback against them.
I make payment of at least 93% of the arbitrary liability forfeited from every British citizen, taxpayer and householder so that they might live in shelter like civilised people; and my reward is to get bent over the toilet like an 18 year old sharing a cell with a lifer in Wormwood Scrubs.
Fuck the fucking council tax. Fuck the politicians. Fuck politics. Fuck fucking dicks like Jack McConnell. Who the fuck is that wee prick, anyway? He's a fucking maths teacher from Arran, for fuck's sake! He is the incarnation of the Scottish Labour Party's lack of either intellectual depth or moral seriousness.
I mean, what fucking sane person actually aspires to stand in front of a roomful of children spouting shite like 'If dx by dy equals p, and j is 4, calculate the value of n'? It was a load of shite when I was studying Higher Maths 20 years ago, and it's a load of shite now.
Who the fuck is Gordon Brown? That one-eyed Fife gobshite has been raised from the crib to rule, to dominate. What the fuck has he ever done? What fucking skills does he have? He's a fucking jumped up Edinburgh University student politician whose old photos make him look like a shite dressed in tartan.
He's written a biography of James Maxton, that's what he's done - as if any sentient simian breathing gives a fuck.
And Alex fucking Salmond? Is it just me, or does he no' look like Droopy? Whenever I see him, I keep thinking he's going to say 'Hello, all you happy people. I'm Droopy'.
This afternoon, I have paid South Lanarkshire Council £25.00 in order to cease proceedings. This effectively leaves me with £18.00 of my money until the last working day of the month, so I'll be scratchin' ma baws from now 'til St. Andrew's Day. I'll get by, don't worry.
Actions have consequences. The consequences of South Lanarkshire Council's failure to timeously implement a direct debit mandate will include increased worry over money in my household, at a time of year when neither my fiancee nor myself can afford it - but that's the State for you, and the State couldnae give a fuck.
Someone tell this stupid-lookin' fat Stalinist Paisley prick.
However, another consequence has been that this morning, I required to make an emergency GP appointment to get another prescription of Chlordiazepoxide, the only med that seems to help me control my head and right arm, and deal with the sometimes crippling anxiety attacks that Tourette Syndrome gifts its sufferers - certainly this one. Last night and this morning I was climbing the fucking wall over this. I'm still stammering like a fucking Gatling gun, but that will pass.
In all fairness, SLC's staff, who do a difficult job, were most prompt and civil in advising how to avoid proceedings. I have no issue with them; indeed for I., the lady I spoke to today, I have only the utmost praise - she was very professional.
It's not people like her that are the problem, but their fat-arsed bosses.
I wrote yesterday about the lack of a police presence in our area. The elected members of South Lanarkshire Council might like to know that a bunch of neddy wee bastards seemed to be trying to re-enact Isandahlwana outside my front door last night.
And the ever present dogshit I described? After my entry of yesterday, I had a thought which the elected members might care to consider.
We have cream carpets, and I have to walk through the dogshit zone in the dark.
Now, they might recently have seen BBC footage of Pashtun warriors parading captured
military equipment. This equipment included night-vision goggles.
Yes, councillors, the fucking Taliban have a better chance than I have of walking up my street in the dark without getting shite on their shoes!