On the Dotted Line...

FINALLY and at long long last I have signed the paperwork for where I live!

This after more than six months of floating in a noman'sland of computorial nonexistence (despite signing weekly registers TO both "nonexistent" addresses; despite receiving council tax bills at both)...

Yes finally! And at long, long last...

(Of course I was late for today's appointment and a bolshy woman said I would probably have to wait for ages. So I sunnily replied "that's fine" and spent nearly an hour at my old internet cafe, the one that was always interminably slow, where I used to live and hated living ~ the place where I hardly ever posted because I couldn't find a netcaff to accommodate my basic needs...)

Then I saw da man and he was fine about it all. I had all the appropriate papers (a first ~ for they were actually on me) ~ I signed up. When he asked whether I had any questions I flickered and glibly bowed out of the issue of my alleged half-year of nonexistence and the arrears I would supposedly owe for that.

I'm thinking of taking the council to a formal complaints tribunal for their negligence in that matter. Knowing full well my "mental" and "druggie" situation (I actually said I was on heroin on the original application forms) it is to THEIR negligence not to have furnished me with the appropriate payment slips and plastic swipecard immediately ~ let alone six months down the line...

I will be getting a Housing Services Payment Card "in the next three days" ~ but that's for this place. At least I shan't be running up arrears here ~ I'm resolutely determined not to.

This charge is minimally just under £10; but I would owe more because I so-uniquely WORKED ~ for over TWO YEARS before plunging into the morass of "welfare" I get National Insurance Contribution-based benefit which is slightly higher. Except what the government give with one hand the Council's Housing Department swipe back with another. Meaning I'd actually be far better off (and in a less complexicated situation) if only I'd not bothered working to start with.

And that's my biggest gripe against the British Government. Hard work is rarely rewarded. If you're stupid enough to save thousands and then need nursing care in old age you're expected to burn up these savings ~ and yet profligate folks who drank and gambled every penny in their lives will get such care absolutely free! Which is one more reason I fell out of love with this cursed country and want out as fast as possible.

I shouldn't gripe because anyway I exist now. I really do! I'm on the computer. I've signed the forms. I exist! I exist!! I exist!!!

THERE WAS A KING IN ORKNEY:

Here's another favourite Goethe poem (from Faust I again). Der König in Thule The King of Thule ~ Thule was a mythical isle to the "far north"; it is possibly Orkney (north of the Scottish mainland) or Shetland (the furthest north isles of Britain) or even Greenland...


Es war ein König in Thule
Gar treu bis an sein Grab,
Dem sterbend seine Buhle
Einen goldnen Becher gab.

There was a king in Thule;
faithful to the grave,
who, dying, to his mistress*
a golden goblet gave...

You can read the rest of this in translation here.

Or in the original here.

Or with music, here.

*I haven't a clue what a "Buhle" is anymore. I thought it meant a kinsman; but the internet says it's a mistress... does anyone know any different (and hopefully better ...?)

This is quite funky. Not the sing-song tune I know, but very good. With silent footage of Faust:



Here's the original poem in German, narrated with illustrations: