MORE bureacracy?

Put me up, put me down,
Put my feet back on the ground,
Put me up, take my heart and make me happy ..

I've just managed to envelope up and send a load of forms from Germany back to the UK, after 2 attempts which apparently failed. If this one actually turns out ok, which would be a nice weight off my mind, then I should be back in pocket in the area of €2000.

The work placement I'm currently undertaking pays me around €800 per month, which is a handsome amount considering the admittedly simple scope of my weekly routine. I can live of this income with ease and afford to travel. This is essentially all I want. The €2000 grant I've just sent back the forms for is free, and I won't pass up free money, but the crux is, simply, that it is not crucial. I could live as I am without it.

Cue British bureacracy, in all it's indecipherable glory.

I'd be lying if I said that the main reason I sent these grant-money forms back was because I'm in desperate need of backup cash. No, I think it was more in the way of incurring a fucking inexplicable charge of £880 if I don't. For .. for what? I don't know. I genuinely have no idea. If I don't send the forms back, the Government/Leeds University/Whichever other twatting pencil pushers designed these clapshot rules remain €2000 better off. Is this £880 a necessary bonus for them, or just something they threw in for fun?

Pfft. So yeah, I'm voluntarily receiving my free money because if I don't I have to pay for not receiving it. You work that one out. I dedicate this post to the fucknugget desk-jockeys who drew this plan up. It sucks balls. It really tongues sack.

2011

When it all gets dark again,
The whole thing falls apart I guess,
It doesn't really matter 'bout the rain,
'Cause we'll get through it anyway ..

Another year gone.

My New Years Eve was spent in Amsterdam trying not to get killed. If you are Dutch, and you have a firework, set it off wherever the hell you like. You seem to gain bonus points if you kick a firework over towards a crowd of people.

I spent most of New Years Eve in a coffee shop. We sat for five minutes just kind of shaking uncontrollably post near-death experience, until the guy who owned the place came over looking pretty grumpy and told us if we weren't gonna buy anything or smoke, we'd have to leave.

We told him truthfully that we'd bought from him the previous night. Suddenly he was very friendly. It was the best kind of friendly; he just raised his hands and said, in that genuine tone that you'd expect from David Attenborough or Morgan Freeman, "No problem guys" and walked behind the bar.

The Dutch are ok.

There's nothing else to report. After New Years Eve I think I have some new lease on life after witnessing near-death in all its red, green and sparkly rocket glory.

Oh, and don't go to Paris. Or do, but do it better than I did. Ooh, and run amok in train stations, the guards carry rifles but no ammunition whatsoever. And don't speak to anyone.

HAPPY NEW YEAR