That’s that then. I am now officially existing on benefits.

Yes indeedio, I am one of them unwashed scroungers that the Daily Mail hates! WAHOO! The government decided that, yeah, actually, me having no income and no savings and no immediate means of supporting myself and my child is reason enough for them to help me out. Thanks, government. Cheers, DavCam! It’s a princely sum you’re spaffing into my bank account on a fortnightly basis. ‘Princely’ as in, the prince of crap. I still can’t pay my rent or bills but hey, at least now we can eat something other than dust.

No, really, it’s cool. I’m not complaining. I’m grateful. I need the money. It’s just, my head’s spinning a bit, y’know? I’ve never been this dependent on a faceless entity before. In my head, the government is a big, knobbly, posh-looking building with hordes of peasants camped outside of it. Kinda like the Houses of Parliament. But with a giant photo of DavCam’s giant shiny head sellotaped to it. So not that faceless then. But you know what I mean. It’s a THING. A collection of NOOBS. Making shite decisions that are supposed to HELP US and stuff, and yet DON’T really. I’m not a political person but I know what makes me mad. And that’s posh people keeping all the money and chopping up poor people and baking them in pies. WHICH IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN. You’ll see.

So, benefits. Again, WAHOO! Man alive, it’s good to have some pressure taken off. But fark me, it’s tricky having no money. Like, before, when I was earning some moneys, if I wanted to buy some new pants, I would just go out and buy pants? Usually some nice ones – maybe from Marks and Spencer? Cotton blend, leopard print, a bit of lace. Scented with unicorn pheromones. Innit.

Now, however, if I want to buy some new pants, I can’t. I have to wear my old ones till they fall off me in wispy tatters. Then it becomes a bit desperate, and my need to acquire pants becomes acute. The present options for my pant buying is limited. No Marks and Spencer for me now: I get SPAT ON BY MYLENE KLASS AND TWIGGY if I go within fifteen feet of M&S. Nope – now I am a benefits tart I have to buy my knickers from charity shops, or, cos charity shops are a bit pricey these days, I may have to steal pants from old ladies instead. I think it’s a farking good indication that you’re a povvo if you’re prising the mouldy knickers from some crusty granny undercarriage. Like, erm, Robin Hood. But with more underwear theft?

And pants are just the crotchless tip of the iceberg. I also cannot buy gin, books, tartan clothes, diamonds, flying monkey nuts, crack cocaine, stuffed animals or interplanetary pirate ships without thinking very carefully about whether I can afford them or not first. It’s a very new mindset for me. I don’t like it much. I hate not being able to treat Moo to stuff every now and again. But I’ll just have to get used to it, I guess, until I work out how I can marry a fragile old man with heaps of money get a job.

I’m not alone. We’re all struggling financially. Unless you’re rich (in which case, I might marry you. Or steal your pants). Such a switch in circumstances is a bastard. When have you had to cope with something like this? And HOW did you cope? (you may be able to surmise that I am not coping that well, mahahahaahhahah *falls over*)