Silly Faffing Games

Further to yesterday’s posting, A Regressive Impulse, the stress continues to mount. Following the advice of the anonymous caller from Medical Services (linked to the DWP), I summoned up the courage, and reserves of emotional stamina, to make and keep an appointment with my GP. This was to find out if he would be prepared to send them a note to confirm that a 'home visit' medical would be more suitable for me.

As soon as I mentioned the nature of my visit, the doctor informed me that the anonymous caller’s suggestion was a breach of protocol. The protocol, unsurprisingly, is that they (the DWP or their medical agents) contact the GP but, he did suggest that he felt a home visit would be more appropriate!

So, having had my completed form for three months, it seems that the Department of Work and Pensions are practising a cheap emotional blackmail with the now pressurised timescale, or perhaps they are quite simply incompetent! My beloved will attempt to contact the relevant section of DWP to ask them to contact my GP, following the correct protocol, as the calendar buzzes around my head.

I had intended to go to an Exhibition Preview this evening, which would have been only my second real social outing in the past year, but now, I feel rather too exhausted and nauseous to contemplate such an expenditure of energy.

My grateful thanks go out to Tony Blair’s Uncivil Service.

Feeling more charitable, I paraphrase a couple of lines from Philip Larkin (Poet and Librarian of my alma mater):

“They f*ck you up, D W P.
They may not mean to, but they do.”