You couldn't make it up :D

No, I refuse to make any Irish jokes.


After I've finished cleaning up the coffee I've spluttered all over my keyboard (nothing new there), I'll continue the blog.

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I think I posted about a possible redundancy some time ago. I was very angry at the time, but when I sat down to think about it, I decided it wouldn't be such a bad idea - and I joined the Great Unwashed in November.
The grand plan was to wait out the redeployment period, and if things had worked out my way, I would have been sending postcards from Cuba now. The intention was to have the holiday of a lifetime to a country I've wanted to visit for donkey's years, then come back to London in time to catch the spring, refreshed and roaring to go, look around at the possibilities, and get work again. I'd gone as far as checking flights, talking to friends who've already been there, checking the Cuba tourist office looking into possible routes within the island to keep out of the tourist trail. I'd even gone as far as chatting up Cuban looking people (I kid you not) at bus stops to find out more inside information. The only thing I hadn't done was book the tickets.

But - and there always is a but, of course!
With great timing, my father had major (and sudden) life saving surgery just before my redundancy date. His aorta broke. Obviously that didn't happen in 5 minutes, it had probably been giving out for years, but he'd never, ever had the tiniest warning. Or maybe he'd had warnings, but we've since learnt that the symptoms for this kind of problem look like minor ailments: a bit of weakness now and again, indigestion, flu, that sort of thing. With my father being fit as a fiddle, very active and looking about 10 years younger than he was, and most of all only visiting the doctor for his regular check ups and never, ever for anything silly like a cold or flu, nobody would have ever thought something like this could happen. Especially because all his check ups didn't show anything, the last one only 5 months before the disaster.
Thankfully he was incredibly lucky.
He started to feel unwell when he was at home and could easily reach the phone - with him being so active and always running around like a loony, that in itself is amazing. The day after he would have been clearing local woods to prepare it for the chestnut-picking season. He would have been out in the sticks with no mobile reception. He'd have been there that very day had he not had some building work going on at his place, so he waited for the tradesman. It doesn't bear thinking about.
One of the nurses who were in the ambulances that arrived at his place shortly after the call decided to ignore the perfectly fine ECG, showing there was absolutely no problem with his heart, because she didn't like his face and what he was telling her. So they took him away. Within about three hours he was in surgery that was to last about 9 hours. Less than 48 hours after the first one, he had another 4 hours on the table. We were told he may not wake up, or, if he did, it was likely he'd have some sort of brain damage.
Apparently there are very few surgeons that can perform this operation in the whole of Italy (fewer than 10). One of them was on duty that night, at that hospital. My father woke up with no brain damage. He was in intensive care for weeks, of which over one under sedation, then in rehab for about a month, before being allowed home.

So that was it for Cuba. Instead, I spent two months in Italy with my father so he could go back to his own place as he shouldn't really be on his own. Now he can live independently, although he's constantly going for hospital appointments to monitor things as part of the aorta is still hanging by a thread and could go at any time. When that happens, the educated guess is that he won't be needing more surgery...

Anyway, 2 weeks after I came back to London, I finally got off my arse and went to the Job Centre to apply for benefits. Me being me, I had to tell them I'd been away for a couple of months (which they would never have known otherwise), so I was given an HRT (or habitual residency test). Now, I understand they've got to make sure benefits are paid to the right people, but they did have my last pay slips and P45 that showed I'd been working here for at least 13 years. They also had my bank statements showing regular direct debit payments being made for utilities.
Yet I had to answer questions such as:
- Did you bring any belongings with you to the UK? (answer: no, my belongings have been here for 20 years)
- Did you bring any money with you to the UK? (nope, my money has been held in UK bank accounts for almost as long)
But the one that really got up my nose was: did you keep in touch with people in the UK while you were away? If yes, who and how? (you mean, like the married guy I occasionally meet or frequently text as I'm his bit on the side?).
No, ok, I behaved and gave the civilised answer, but I was soooooooooo tempted!

And now I'm kind of looking forward to getting my CV sorted out so I can start looking around.