More life and political views from people who must rely on benefits:

Posted below is a transcript of a recorded interview made recently with Michael (named changed on request). Michael is in his mid-50s. We made this recording at a foodbank and kitchen lunch in the Manchester area in February (Michael asked for his details to be kept anonymous).

Most weeks, I spend several hours at foodbanks and kitchen lunches recording interviews with people who rely exclusively on benefits. In the mainstream press and politics, we hear a lot about Just About Managing Families and the Squeezed Middle, and other groups that have some political clout. We hear less from people who are marginalised and considered irrelevant. That’s a pity, because people who are considered irrelevant have a lot of relevant experiences, particularly when it comes to dealing first-hand with fallout from welfare reform. We talk about everything at our meetings: homelessness, housing, money, work, politics, Brexit, drug and alcohol addiction, mental health, family and the DWP.

Michael talked about most of those things.

He was particularly concerned about his living arrangements.

Michael had recently been street homeless. He’d even stayed on the floor of his local church for a time. A few months ago, he was placed in a flat on an estate by his local homelessness office. He liked the flat, but wanted to move. He wanted to get away from another drinker on the estate. He said that his neighbours bullied him, because they thought he was a nark.

Michael said people thought this because he spent a lot of time in the company of a copper. (I wasn’t sure if Michael meant a copper, or a community support officer, or another sort of volunteer. People deal with countless agencies and support workers. Wires get crossed). There may have been other problems, but Michael didn’t volunteer them. He said the policeman worked with a local community partnership. This support worker sometimes took Michael to benefits assessments and GP appointments. He helped Michael fill in benefit application forms.

Michael received Employment and Support Allowance. He’d had a serious heart attack a couple of years ago. Michael said that money was tight. He couldn’t afford to run the heating at his flat for more than half-an-hour a day. He wore many layers of clothing on the day that we met: a shirt, several sweatshirts and his coat. The clothes were dirty. He said he wore the clothes to bed for the warmth.

Michael was informed and eloquent. He read the papers. He said he had a degree and had worked in different parts of the world in well-paid professions. He’d lived in Asia for years and knew a great deal about different countries there. He’d also had a serious drink problem for years. In recent times, the booze had caught up with him, as it does when people reach 40 or 50. The pancreas goes, the liver goes, the heart goes, the balance goes and the mental health goes. The money’s gone. People talk a lot about things they did and things they say they did. Michael was still drinking. He looked unwell. His face was pale and pouchy, and his hands trembled. He held them out to show me. He looked sick with hangover and he probably was. It was good to know that he was at least housed and had some money coming in. Alcohol is such a wrecker. There’s nothing much left at the end.

We talked about the booze, Michael’s heart attack and his homelessness, government, Brexit (“the most unfortunate thing is that David Cameron ended… George Osborne…they were rebuilding the economy, doing a fantastic job,”) and his fears for his safety in the neighbourhood he’d been placed in. Being pegged as a nark weighed heavily on Michael’s mind.

This is the story that Michael told. This is the sort of conversation I have with someone every week or so. Michael began by talking about the way his relationship with the copper had come about:

“When I went to hospital [for a recent appointment, because of Michael’s health problems after his heart attack] – they’ve got a new community support team there. You’ve got the housing company, the health people, [the] council and the police. They all work together in a team in this unit.

A policeman is my designated support worker. He’s plainclothes CID, quite senior, but he’s a really nice bloke and we’re good friends now. He is my personal support worker. [He] give me lifts in his car – makes sure I get to the hospital and dentist’s, and things like that… [he] helps me with all my paperwork. Without him, I’d be absolutely lost.

The trouble with it is because I’ve only been there [living in the flat he was placed in by the local housing office] for six months, I’m seen as a relative newcomer… The people who have lived as residents for many years there really dislike the police, so they see me as some sort of police informant. They don’t get it that when he’s [the policeman] is working at that hub, he’s not being a policeman. He’s not being a copper on duty. He’s actually working as part of the community team.

What they’re trying to do [with that team] is instead of the people going to the authorities, the authorities go to the local villages to support the people with all kinds of issues – health, financial, gas, heating, hate crime. They’re there to support…not to go around arresting people, or hindering people. But the local residents just don’t get that this guy is supporting me…

People have made lots and lots of threats. [I’ve] been hit a couple of times… I live there on my own. I’ve got no backup at all. My mother and father are dead. The only friends I’ve got are in London… plus, I’ve got a degree, so they see me as some sort of pseudo-intellectual… foreign… outside that’s come in working in conjunction with the police and knocking at their world. Which I’m not.

I’ve had my money stolen. I’ve been hit. I’ve had many, many threats made. A lot of these people living on the estate have got quite a lot of family living on the estate. They’ve all congregated together. There’s a lot of people from Poland. There’s a lot of people from Bulgaria. There’s a lot of people from Africa, which I don’t have a problem with, but the personal issue, which is the main threat to me, are the Irish, because one of them has got such a big family… he was the first one there, but over the years, they’ve all come and joined him on the estate and congregated around him. I’ve got to be really careful of not rubbing him up the wrong way, because otherwise, I’d have him on my case. Plus, all his brothers.

They know that they can pick on me, because I’m [in my 50s] with a heart condition and they know I’m on my own… because of this policeman I’m working in conjunction with. He can’t protect me…

[I used to rent my own flat]. Two years ago, my mother died and left me some money. I was able to rent a house privately. I lived there for a while and I went back to [Asia] where I had spent many years. I’ve got family there, but not here. When I came back to my house, it was all boarded up. All my things had been thrown out into a skip. While I was away, [the] estate agents went bankrupt. They had to get a new estate agent in. Because they thought I was out of the country, they assumed that I wasn’t coming back. They threw out all my clothes, all my records, my CDs, everything. My settees – everything. Lock stock and barrel. I came back and I was homeless.

I had to stay on a church floor – literally, on a church floor at [church name removed]. After a week, the vicar realised my situation. The vicar personally gave me a brick and said, “go and throw it through the window [of your boarded-up flat], because you’re still the legal [occupier].” The vicar gave me the brick to go and break into my own house, even though I’d not been in it.

So, I broke the windows and tried to get in. The police came and arrested me for criminal damage. I said – “I’m trying to get into my own house.”

I was actually trying to sleep in [name removed] cemetery at this point.

Then [the policeman] said, “you can’t sleep in the cemetery. Come and spend the night in the cell. If what you’re saying is true, you’ll have a warm night in the cell and we can sort it out in the morning.”

Which is what we did. In the morning, the desk sergeant came. He didn’t say, “we’re very sorry.” He just said, “Yes, you’re quite correct. You thought you were the tenant. You’ve been out of the country for a few months. The estate agent has changed. We’re not going to press charges. We’re not even going to interview you for criminal damage, because you’ve been trying to get into your own place. But – I’m advising you that you can’t go back.” [The police] gave me a bus pass and I left.

But I was homeless again. I was trying to spend the night in Tesco carpark. Luckily, I bumped into a guy called [name removed] that I know. He let me stay on his floor for a few days. By a miracle, I got a rented bedsit flat for a few months.

[Then] in April of last year, the guy who owns this rented flat threw me out overnight without any notice. Do you know why he did it? – because I invited some guy round to have a drink with me in the afternoon. [This guy], he stole my mobile phone, so the landlord came around and said, “if he’s capable of stealing from you, he could be stealing off the house.” He said, “pack your stuff and you’re out in the morning.” He gave me no notice, nothing, which is illegal.

I had to pack all me suitcases – stick ‘em on a friend’s drive. Lost one of them. Got most of my things in it as well. Clothes and photographs.

I went to stay at [the friend’s] house. He assaulted me – picked up a glass picture frame and smashed it over my head. In between that time, I’d had a heart attack, in between trying to break into my own house and arriving at the bedsit… I had a proper heart attack. I had to go and have a metal plate fitted in my heart, which I’ve got now. In between this combination of him smashing the mirror over my head and my heart condition, I collapsed.

I spent a week in hospital. I said, “I’m not going back to that guy’s house. I’d rather be homeless.”

The nurse had a word with [the local homelessness office] and explained the situation. They got me into a Travelodge for about a week. Then they moved me to a hotel. I was there for a month. That was really good – really nice. I got my own lockable room – clean and tidy. [There was a] very basic communal kitchen, but friendly atmosphere. I was happy there.

But [the housing office] couldn’t afford to keep paying hotels, so they rang me and said, “go and stay in a dispersal unit. [That] sounded like borstal or something to me.

It’s an empty house that they own. They’ve got a lot of them. In this case, it was a two-bedroom semi-detached house that I was in on my own. Fully furnished. The idea is that they call it a dispersal unit, because it’s where they put people that are on the waiting list to get a permanent tenancy. It’s a halfway house between a hotel and a full tenancy. I’ve got a full tenancy now on the flat, but I had to wait in this dispersal unit for three months to go to there. I’m only at the point now where I’ve got this full tenancy by going through that route of declaring yourself homeless. I’m not homeless now. I’ve got a flat. It’s just a question of running it.”

Michael talked for a while about the years that he said he spent working overseas. He said he returned to the UK at the start of 2000.

By this point, I’d got a really, really bad drinking problem. I’d been going out… the spirit levels [overseas] are very strong. They serve you until very late in the morning. I was my own boss, so it didn’t matter what time I went in. In fact, I didn’t do much work. I just used to drink. Then I would go in and sit in my office on my own. I’d email people and then go out and have some more…

In 2001, I signed myself in for some rehabilitation in Salford. I spent about a year trying to get well. It didn’t go very well at first, but I persevered. Luckily, I had some decent people to help me.

[Then] I felt strong enough to do what I wanted to do all my life. So I went back to university…

[Now] I get ESA. No problems with that. That’s all up and running. I’m getting housing benefit and the council tax… I’m up on that.

The only thing that I’m slightly behind on is the water. Mine’s about £200 a year – £15 a month roughly on a payment card… This is why I hate it, because you’ve got to pay separate gas, water and TV licence. I’m getting the ESA for long-term sickness. I’ve always had anxiety and been treated for that for many years, but in addition with all this stress about my health and all the rest of it…

[With Personal Independence Payment] I’ve applied for it and got turned down, but I hadn’t had my heart attack by that point.

The trouble is, I could go on my yahoo mail account… at any one time, there is roughly about 5000 messages. Most of them are about jobs. I would love to be able to do one of them, but I know medically, I’m just not capable.

When I had the heart attack, I had to surrender my driving licence voluntarily. I’ve not driven for ten years anyway, so I hadn’t had a car, but I still had a clean driving licence. The reason it was a clean driving licence was that I didn’t have a car…

But the hospital said to me, “you might have a heart attack when you’re driving. You must surrender your driving licence,” so I did. I was trying to get a refusal letter from the driving vehicle licensing agency saying I’d been refused a driving licence on medical grounds. Finally, I got it.

The policeman, my support worker, is trying to get me the free bus pass. Then, I can go into alcohol support meetings, AA meetings, but even go for a ride out somewhere…

On drinking again

Before I moved to where I am now, I didn’t drink at all. [To avoid alcohol], I won’t go to barbecues, pubs, not even when the World Cup is on. I felt healthier. I was saving money.

Most of the previous year, I hadn’t drank, but when I moved to where I am now… I bumped into a guy in the local shop. He is a major alcoholic. [It was a] sunny day.

He asked me if I wanted a beer. I said, “No, because if I have one, I’ll want a hundred.” I said, “No. I can’t drink.” I get away from him. I made a note in my diary – avoid the shops, because if he’s there… I’m aware of the risks and consequences of relapse, of what drink does. Puts you back. I’m aware of all of that. I did six months with [a therapy group] with every group and session going. They’re selling coals to Newcastle, because all the things they’re telling you, I know it.

That’s why I made a note in my diary saying beware of this trouble – but [name removed], he lived up the street. I thought I would just avoid him, but he don’t just live up the street. He’s my next door neighbour but one.

He found me. First night that he met me, he was on his own and lonely. I’d been watching films and things like that. He was banging on my window, [saying], “come around. I’ve got a drink.” I ignored him, but he was making so much noise, which I can get in trouble [for] with my tenancy. In the end, I gave into him and started going around drinking. [We] got into a cycle of him either buying drinks, or me buying drinks. It’s made me really, really, really ill. Even now, I’m shaking [Michael holds out his hands].

It’s hard, because I’m cold [because heating the flat is too costly]. I’m very aware of not drinking, so that me heart tablets, my medicine tablets for me heart will work.

[My support worker] knows all of this. This is why this support worker is good. He’s aware that I’m trying to get to the bus pass. He’s aware that I’m trying to get off the alcohol. I made it clear that my social [conditions] and my health conditions will never change.

[I need to move to a different area]. It is a shame, because it is a really nice flat [I’ve been placed in]. [My support worker] told me about a scheme now called homeswapper dot co dot uk. You can go on there and if somebody wants to move and I like their flat and they like mine, we can swap. I might end up doing that. I just want to get away from where I am now. Get away from the neighbourhood, get away from him [the man I drink with], get away from them…

I cannot stand it, especially in the cold weather and especially with the heating. People just don’t get it. [The cold] is literally killing me…

It’s killing me. I’m an old man with a heart condition, putting the heater on for half an hour when I’ve put the gas out. I put the radiators on for half an hour and then switch them off. Now that I’ve got no gas, I can’t get it to retain any heat and I can’t put the fire on at night because I can’t cook then (heating the flat uses the metre up).

It’s actually warmer outside. Trouble is that you can spend a lot on heat, but if [your flat] is not insulated, you can’t keep [the heat] in.

I spend about ten pound a week each on both power and gas. About £80 a month.

So I’ve got to retain it [the heat] if I want to cook anything. It’s heat or eat. But I heard it on the radio that every human being was entitled in winter to live at minimum levels, at 15 degrees, because it kills hundreds and hundreds of people, the weather.

On the election of Donald Trump

Trump – he’s a nightmare. He is an absolute nightmare. I’m glad he’s been banned from speaking in parliament. The speaker wants to do it, but there’s been a bit of a rebellion with them saying it is not democratic for him to make the decision himself, or something, but I hope they do stop him. Somebody has got to stop Trump. He is akin to not being far off Adolf Hitler. He really is that extreme, isn’t he?

On Brexit

This time last year, before they had the vote, I was going to vote to leave Europe, because I remember in 1975, when we went into Europe, what a disaster it was and how my dad always said what a disaster it would be.

Now it is a disaster. Don’t get me wrong. I love Europe and I love the Europeans. I spent last year in France and all that. I love the countries, but not the red tape – the bureaucratic nonsense that comes out of Brussels. In terms of practicality, I thought it was better to leave with Brexit.

But I knew that it would have a massive impact on currency. It has. It has devastated it. I didn’t realise it would be so impactful. Now every fortnight, in addition to paying things I have to pay for myself, I have to send my wife money for food and water, because they don’t have water [Michael said he had a partner who lived in Asia].

They have to buy [water] in containers. They don’t even have running water. This isn’t my wife. This is sort of my girlfriend – not my legal wife. I send them a bit of money, but because of the [exchange rate], using Western Union, now [with the weakened pound, the pound is worth less on exchange], so at the last minute at the vote, I changed me mind and voted In, despite the fact that I can’t stand the bureaucracy in Brussels.

In the end, I did actually register to vote in Manchester Library and because I was staying in a hotel, I never got a letter or a number, so in the end… on the night that [Brexit] happened, I knew automatically that this was going to be an economic and political mess, disaster, which is what it is. They can’t even decide how to do it.

That’s in the hands of the politicians…

I think the most unfortunate thing [about Brexit] is that David Cameron ended… he was one of the best prime ministers that Britain ever had and one of the best statesmen we’ve ever had. He was really good. George Osborne – he was one of the best chancellors. They were rebuilding the economy, doing a fantastic job.

My biggest regret was that David Cameron [left] ,because I thought he was a really good leader. The whole thing is a tragic mess.

It’s Watch This Space.