Extracts from this article are printed in the Guardian today (18 July).
This is the second article from my series of interviews with people around the country who are affected by this appalling government’s welfare changes, NHS reform and cuts. This report is from the southwest.
The interviews from Weymouth are with a group of older men who were in and out of homelessness and battling to keep their jobseekers’ and employment and support allowances.
The names of people on jobseekers’ allowance or ESA have been changed and marked *. Most of these people were going through Atos work capability assessments and were concerned that the mere act of giving interviews would be construed as fitness for work. There are accompanying audio recordings.
There is also a list of policy changes and cuts which affect each person at the end of each section.
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Weymouth, May 2012
Olympics 2012 costs-in-austerity controversies:
Stone mushrooms cost more than £330,000.
Local hoteliers fear thousands in losses during the games
Sandcastle costing £5000 demolished

Image: Pier at Weymouth, May 2012.
Of all the cowflop that David Cameron speaks, there is no bigger pile than his deceitful and misleading “culture of entitlement” line on people on benefits.
Lives on benefits are not, as Cameron would have us believe, simple and sorry stories of unreal “expectations” from people who believe “the state will support you whatever decisions you make… you can have a home of your own… you will always be able to take out, no matter what you put in.”
It’s one of modern politics’ most loathsome sells: this notion that people who need state support hold any cards, let alone all of them. The idea of a culture of entitlement is entirely romantic. There’s nothing left for anyone to feel entitled to. No aspect of taking state money in this day and age is painless, or liberating – except, perhaps, if you’re a bailed-out banker.
For the rest, a life on benefits is an appalling tale of financial and personal reduction, particularly when you’ve no hope of buying yourself back by finding a job. You must have the state in that case. You can’t do without it. Your desperation, though, means that the state also has you.
I’ll give you an example of this reduction from Weymouth. It will sound tiny, but it wasn’t. It’s probably common, but it wasn’t insignificant. At the time, I was worried – I thought there was a chance that I may have put someone’s benefits in jeopardy. It was probably a small chance, but the thought did occur to me.
It all started merrily enough. I was horsing around in a carpark with Sean Needham* (in his 50s and made redundant from a Woolworth’s warehouse when Woolies went bust), Pete Gyte* (ex-armed forces), Mike Gale* (also ex-services) and H*, Mike’s cheerful, turbo-charged, Alsatian when Needham made a sudden decision.
He invited me to the next meeting of the job club that the men said they had to regularly attend as a condition of collecting their jobseekers’ and employment and support allowances. All three men were in their late 40s, or early 50s. All were unemployed and all had been homeless from time to time over the years.
Nobody seemed entirely sure what the job club was for (“we’re supposed talk about getting work and CVs,” Needham said, vaguely), but they could see two clear advantages to it for me.
The first was that they thought it would give me some insight into the hoops they had to jump through to keep their benefits and/or find employment in their challenging patch. Employment rates in the southwest are among the country’s best, but unemployment has been on the rise. If you’re a drug addict, or an alcoholic, or have serious mental health problems, or a history of homelessness – well, the guys said that it might happen, but it might not.
“I mean – come on,” Gyte said when we touched on the topic. “They reckon everybody’s fit for work, but if I had a company, most of the people I know – I wouldn’t let them in the door! Operating expensive machinery…?”
The second was that there was a sex shop somewhere along the way. There was no real advantage to that news, I suppose, except that it made us all incredibly funny for the rest of the night.
“You can get a pair of knickers first!” Gyte giggled.
“No crotch for me,” I said, which was, obviously, hilarious. The entire conversation seemed hilarious – a whole lot of giggling and snorting about David Cameron, Tories, government, CVs and dildos. Continue reading
