The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

On Thursday, just before I went to sign on the phone rang, “It’s Radio Merseyside. Do you still want to speak to Roger?” I’d phoned them an hour earlier, not really thinking I’d get on the show and there it was, I had just ten minutes before I had to go out to get my bus. Yet with something to say, I told her, “Yes.” Then I had listened to the station awhile over the phone, then been put through as he announced me: I had spoken of how I feel about the use of water based technologies, in an area such a that I live in, producing energy for many decades, ‘for free’. When Roger, the shows presenter had talked of how much we needed the efforts of private investment. I’d reminded him, that if we do it for ourselves, it’s power to the people, literally… Then on Sunday, I was reading my emails and found one from a friend who told me the station was using a portion of my piece, as the shows advert for the following weeks shows. That had been quite something to read, but better to hear, for I had, earlier in the day. And, it’d been pleasing to find that I sounded quite alright, as I’d produced quite a cogent argument. Yes, Power to the People.

Since Saturday and a highly disturbing letter from the dole on the 8th November 2014, I have been trying to recollect the events of 3rd June 2013, to ascertain how I could have deceived someone to the extent that they made a mistake that led to an overpayment of £1,700 odd. For that is how the letter had read…

This is distressing my Father and myself, because we thought this had been dealt with.



9th November 2014



Received a letter from DWP re: overpayment.



10th November 2014



9:00 a.m. (Approx.)



Phoned dole, to say that they were wrong. [‘Nick’] told me he would send an email and to expect a callback.



10:00 a.m. (Approx.)



Dole phoned, ‘as a courtesy call’ I’d been told several times [by ‘Cathy’] as I tried to ask questions. She had informed me to expect another call, to provide verbal explanation, as requested by me. When I asked how long I might expect to wait, I had been told “3 hours, about 1:30”.

In turn I had informed ‘Cathy’, “That’s not good enough, I have to go to the doctors about then.” [[To pick up the letter I’d been expecting, for Lynn Rogers, signed and stamped ‘Confidential.’]]

I’d been assured that I’d have a ringback, to explain the decision to me, as requested, prior to 1:30 p.m.

Well, I’d waited till 1:45 as it happens, then walked to the doctor’s, as fast as I’m able to and, needless to say, there’s been no phone-call, nor had there been while as I was out. As I intimate, the numerous times my Father has now had to explain himself, on my behalf, is starting to tell.

Yet, I still need that explanation; after all how can I contest the validity of an accusation, without being aware of every salient fact?



All-in-all, very very frustrating.

I got an email from the young lady I’ve been doing dvd’s of ‘True Blood’ for. It had seemed that I had erroneously sent her the second half of series six, twice.

So, I recopied the second half of series six, then checked it twice, before deciding to go up the road to the post office, to see about postage, for the U.S.A.

“Do you want anything Dad?” I’d asked.

“Just some stamps,” he’d answered, giving me £2

Now the money he’d given me was enough for three stamps, so that’s what I had got.

I had bought three new stamps, each a prime-minister. There’d been Harold Wilson, Clement Atlee and Winston Churchill, yet the collection seemed incomplete, to me.

“So, what happened to Margaret Thatcher?” I’d asked with a grin, knowing just how popular that woman is, round where I live.

“Nobody wants them,” she told me, “So I took them out of the book. Then when someone brings an envelope in to be stamped to go straight into the delivery bag, I’ll put one on them…”

As I walked out, into the showery light rain on a blue-sky day, I’d muttered to myself, “Well, least they’re getting used.

I had been fuming when I left the doctor’s Monday the 27th October 2014

I had gone for a series of blood tests I need, ideally before the appointment I have with the dole next, which can’t happen now, as I needed those results.

My appointment had been made the previous week, after the flu injection. I had made it with Jan, after Linda had said, “I’ll do it, if the reception can make an appointment.”

This was simply because I trust her to do my bloods, not the phlebotomists: at least, if I’m given the preference that is.

Reception had made the appointment, as I say. And, Jan had been good enough to write down the rest of them; two of which are quite irrelevant now.

Yet, I digress.

I arrived for my 10:00 a.m. appointment, after fasting for fourteen hours and, missing my morning coffee; then waited to be booked in, only to be told the appointment did not show on the system.

“I can offer you 11:20…” I’d been assured, then reminded the young lady I had told her I’d be going to Llandudno shortly, so that’d hardly been a viable option.

So, I’d left the building, fuming… and, thoroughly enjoyed the cold coffee waiting at my bedside, when I got home, just as Barry called.

We had gone to Elton, picked up his Nephew Mike then gone to Llandudno. We’d driven the length of the prom. Then we had walked on a headland, ending up eating our picnic on the rocks of a small inlet, as one seal, then another, checked us out through curiosity.



Come my evening, I had rested awhile, then wrote; while watching a pretty good copy of ‘Guardians Of The Galaxy.’

The next day after a poor nights sleep, my Father noticed a piece of a slate missing on the sloped roof at the back. He had spent ages looking at it with binoculars and, after his lack of success I peered at the roof for ages till I managed to find which tile had been damaged. I had counted upward from the gutter, told Dad that it was ‘fifteen up’, prior to us trying to find a roofer to see to it, before it rained.

Needless to say, that had proved impossible and, against my better judgement, Dad got his bass and tools and went up there, to fit a tile where the old one was chipped.

As he was up there I’d taken photos, all the time thinking of the stupid accident with a garage door that had led to my Mum’s Death. Basically, I’d freaked.

All that said, he had got the job finished before it had rained.

Then it was off to the doctors, to discuss my current conditions, in context of work and the jobcentre etc… not too pleasant. Then, I’d cooked the tea, fish ‘n chips Neil-style [with omelette, tomatoes & garlic etc] Come late evening, after a rest for my knees, I’d still been feeling hyper, though physically tired, so I had sat and wrote of the day.

Come Thursday I walked to sign on, after doing the housework with Dad. It’d been quite a walk way back when and, it seems it still is.

As I had passed through the village, I stared after a cyclist in blue and black lycra with a bear and bad manners, who cycled on the pavement and toward me, expecting me to get out of his way. He had cycled on a way, then stopped and boy-I-so-wanted him to return, but he’d just stood there astride his bike ranting. So, I just clenched my fists then teeth and had carried on with my walk.

It had been as I’d been two thirds of the way there when I was stepping into and across a side-road when I suddenly noticed a car to my right, as he noticed how me and how I walk. The fellow had waved me across the road and, as I’d done so a fellow in a blue-car turned right, having chosen not to signal.

Needless to say, for someone with a sore left knee and right hip, I moved fast. And, for some strange reason, I had turned to the first fellow and had apologised, after I’d shouted at the second, as his car had sped up down the road.

Then I’d continued to the dole, to endure the irritation of ‘the system’.

And, though a rest was had after pizza, hyper-mode set in later, with a mental reminder after watching ‘Zombeavers’ and ‘Bloodwork’ that I had to be up early, to go shopping with Dad…

Come the weekend I had a good day, the sort of day to be framed and, although I realise every day cannot be like it, I’m glad that days do exist that make one feel as though you’ve been on a holiday almost…