Ain’t too proud to beg

I’m economically inactive at the moment. It’s coming up to a year since I last worked and it’s safe to say I am now unemployable, as well as unemployed. (Don’t worry: I’m not a benefits scrounger because, even though I paid National Insurance for over 40 years, I’m not entitled to anything.) I am looking for work but my foot is full of bullet holes from shooting into it and I tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Who wants to employ an elderly gentleman, albeit with most of his hair, without chemical assistance I have to say, the same colour as it used to be, but who happens to be a clinical depressive and, in all likelihood, an undiagnosed autistic person, especially when they – I, actually – admit this stuff on my job applications. “Thanks for your interest,” they must think, “but don’t call us, we won’t call you.” Add to this my complete lack of educational qualifications, except one O level, you can see why no one wants me. Hence today’s grift.

My job is now ‘Blogger and Writer’ and that’s what will appear on any forms I have to fill out. It sounds SO impressive, doesn’t it? I’m finally what I always wanted to be: a professional writer, except the returns indicate I am still performing in Amateur Hour. What to do about it?

My IT department has set up this rather novel idea that if you like what I do and want to give some support, you can buy me a coffee. Just now and then, once in a blue moon or, if you’re particularly flushed, regularly.

I can report that after only 21 days, I am off to a flying start with contributions already in double figures. I am deeply grateful, thankful, flattered and downright shocked that people are throwing their hard-earned money at me, just to read the dross that passes for blogging and a weekly music shuffle where I tell you what music I am listening to.

I know what you are thinking: paying nothing is far too expensive but imagine how happy I’ll be if another couple of quid turns up in my account. So if you could manage a bit longer without food and heating, you’ll make a happy man very old.

In the next few months, I’m embarking on more ambitious writing projects and I promise you, every penny counts. And in the unlikely – impossible – event I earn enough to trouble HMRC, I won’t do a Rishi Sunak.

Love and Mercy.