Jobcentre Misery
As many already know, I spent far too long towing the line and working for the DSS (or Benefits Agency as it was), before going on to work for the Employment Service (now Jobcentre Plus. Plus what? Half decent jobs, perhaps? Or is it all still cleaners and security guards?)

The BA, whilst not a particularly mind blowing environment to be in, was nonetheless made bearable by the people with whom I worked – a cracking bunch, we had a laugh, and generally the days went by quite quickly. However, after being fucked over after not being permanently promoted into a job I was already doing anyway, I decided enough was enough, and applied for a job with the ES – same grade, but more money. “That’ll show ‘em”, I thought. Sure enough, after a somewhat convoluted recruitment process, I was in. I finished the BA on the Friday, and started with the ES on the Monday.

In Alnwick.

Oh, cock.

Despite it being named recently as one of the most fantastical places to live in England, and whilst it is indeed very pretty and historic and has a big fucking castle just outside the town centre, it’s fair to say that some of the people that live there or in the surrounding catchment area wouldn’t even fall into the category of ‘sub-human’. (Anyone who lives or has family in Alnwick, please note the use of the word ‘some’. It’ll save you hurting your fingers as you furiously type flaming responses later). I was familiar with some of the clientele anyway, as I had to do a couple of stints there when I worked for the BA, who had a satellite office based there. However, professional that I am, I thought I’ll go and do my job, and diligently.

After the first week I realised that I’d made the worst mistake of my life, and spent the next two and a half years looking for a way out. It wasn’t so much the clientele – most were OK, some were quite interesting (one punter had been a sound recordist and had worked on Aliens, for example – he brought a scrap book full of signed photos of people he had worked with, including Kathleen Turner and Ken Loach. Nice bloke). My colleagues were a mostly decent bunch, but being in an open plan, public office didn’t give much scope for irreverent banter. I very quickly got disillusioned, and repeatedly refused to go for promotions on the basis that I hated what I was doing, why would I want to do something that gave me more stress and made me more miserable for an extra £3k a year? No, I’ll carry on as I am, and continue looking for something else. A prolonged process of applying for jobs and getting nowhere, not even responses, ensued. Pretty ironic considering my role involved offering advice of job hunting…

And so over the months I got more and more fed up of being part of a team that was asked to meet ever increasing targets on an ever decreasing caseload of clients, and ever decreasing staff numbers, and applied for a job that I thought sounded interesting, but would mean dropping down a couple of grades again, and losing about £3k a year. Not a problem, the missus was on a good wage and we could cushion the loss a bit by getting rid of the second car. I applied at the last minute, got an interview, and informed my office manager that I needed the afternoon off, and why.

The interview itself was the best I’d ever had, and I came out of it feeling buoyant about the whole thing. I’d done my research on the organisation before hand, and played some blinders during the questions. I was told I’d hear by Wednesday. But, come Wednesday, there was nothing. When I got back from work on Thursday, there still was nothing. By Friday I was starting to fear the worst. So I made a decision, picked up the phone, rang the organisation and got the best answer I could have hoped for.

“Yes, we sent a letter out yesterday, it should have arrived today. You were on a reserve list, but someone has declined their job offer and we want to offer you a position”.

Fucking brilliant. I went straight into the manager’s office, beaming. “Can I have a word, Diane”?

“You’ve been offered the job, haven’t you”?

“Yes”.

“You’ve accepted it haven’t you”?

“Yep”.

“Oh”.

Two weeks later and I was gone. That move took me in a totally different direction, and the next four years were, without question, the best four working years of my life. I worked with good people, whom I’m still in touch with today. Had I had the choice, I’d still be there, but the curse of restructuring reared its head and the organisation was wound down and absorbed into a new body – one I didn’t see myself having a place in. But of all the jobs I’ve had, including my current one, it was the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done workwise.

Length - 10 years too long.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 23 May 2008, 13:24, 12 replies)

haha
Yes, I've heard that about some people in Alnwick...
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 23 May 2008, 13:31, closed)

I once met a bloke from Amble
which is in that neck of the woods too. He said of Alnwick that "they eat their bairns there, like".
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 23 May 2008, 13:44, closed)

You should see the graffiti.
I noticed a bus shelter that had been 'tagged'. It said:
Johnny,
Pete,
Cheryl,
Donna,
Shaznay,
Chardonnay,
Gary,
Jeff,
Steve,
Steve,
Steve,
Ronny,
Colin,
Jack,
Shelly,
Sandra,
Jenny,
Phil,
Jake,

Ov da McLintree massiff woz ere '9T9.



It's the kind of place they have 'local shops' for 'local people'.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 23 May 2008, 13:51, closed)

Amble's not much better, to be honest
In fact, some of my worst clients were from Amble
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 23 May 2008, 13:52, closed)

one of my best mates
got married in Amble.

But he is a ginger.
(Bazongaloid, Fri 23 May 2008, 14:07, closed)

Amble
Please allow me to comment on the words of
www.northumberland-coast.co.uk/amble.php

"The town owes its growth and prosperity to the 19th century coalfields from which it used to ship coal to southern England and the Continent, but as this declined so did the fortunes of the town."
The place was built on coal and fishing. They've both gone down the shitter and lots of people are on the dole.

"The development of an award-winning marina on the site of the former staithes has brought new life to the town, and it is once again a busy harbour town."
Rich people who have their yachts parked a mile or two away sometimes go into the town for groceries, booze, cigarettes etc.

"Guesthouses, bed and breakfast, and a variety of self-catering facilities are available within and also close by Amble. A caravan and camping site is located at Amble Links, adjacent to coast and harbour. A few miles to the south is Cresswell Towers Holiday Park, offering fun and relaxation for all the family."
Chav families from Sunderland and Newcastle come here to spend their summer DSS hardship loans on caravan holidays and chips with blue fizzy pop.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 23 May 2008, 14:09, closed)

Is it as bad as
Shilbottle?

All the signs to it on the A1 have been vandalised and the first l has been turned into a t.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 23 May 2008, 14:12, closed)

To be fair.
I've slated Amble quite a bit, and it's not too bad (For short visits. While the chav tourists aren't there).

From what I've seen though, it's a great deal better than it's poorer neighbour, Newbiggin by the Sea. About 10 miles south of Amble and proudly nestling with its inbred sister-village Lynemouth in the shadow of an aluminium smelting plant. That place is a real gem.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Fri 23 May 2008, 14:21, closed)

Oh yes
Newbiggin. Brian Blessed's favourite holiday destination apparently. I went to give a mate's band some moral support at a pub gig there a while back (as I think I've mentioned).

Never again...

(Although, to be fair, Newbiggin is quite a pretty village when looked at from the main street. It's just the people that populate the place that drag it down).
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 23 May 2008, 15:07, closed)

I like the name: Amble...
Sounds like a slow and leisurely place. If not for your descriptions I'd like to live there.
( Moey, Fri 23 May 2008, 15:24, closed)

Twuntryside Agency?
Hi there again DG - you do seem to have a pretty rough time of it all. Did you manage to avoid the fallout of the RPA - which physically must be fairly close to where you are?

Hmm. Not a very good comment, I'm afraid, but I must admit to just being a wee bit tickled with having thought up the subject "Twuntryside Agency" to think up something useful besides emoting.
(cheesehead, Sat 24 May 2008, 0:40, closed)

Funnily enough
The job in question that broke me out of the Jobcentre was for the Countryside Agency (or CUNTryside Agency, if Tourette's would have anything to say on teh subject). Lovely place, lovely people.

However, from there I went to Defra's Rural Development Service, at around the time when the Rural Payments Agency had all that bad press about staff in Newcastle leaping naked from filing cabinets... The RPA really are hopeless. For once, a Government agency getting bad press that is totally deserved, IMHO.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sun 25 May 2008, 21:47, closed)