I had the rather unpleasant and frustrating experience of telephoning the council the other day. Finding the correct telephone number and indeed a real life person to talk to is extremely difficult and at times you feel like bashing your head against a brick wall.

So, why did I wish to call them? Was it to ask them to dispose of the dead and decaying squirrel, which has been run over and is lying with its intestines spread out just a short walk from my house – no. Was it to try and blag some free money in the form of benefits – no. Was it to complain about the bin men who are refusing to take away my rubbish simply because I called them dirty, smelly wankers – no.

I called the council to give THEM money, which will then be blown on The Bath Spa Project (amongst other things). It seems that however much they stress the importance of paying your council tax, when it comes down to it, unless your situation is 100% simple they will not accept your money.

Apparently they believe that the landlord should pay for the council tax even though I have told them more times than I care to remember that the house residents are paying.

It’s like pulling teeth. So, “why pay it?” I hear you ask? I would love to turn around to the council and tell them to stick their tax if they don’t want my money, but life doesn’t work like that.

If I ignored the situation, like they seem to be doing, I would end up with a letter in November billing me for £1,000,000 for all the overdue payments (and yes council tax in Bath really is £1,000,000 for 6 months… well almost)

In the end I used my charm and they agreed that, yes they would like me to give them my money. A cheque will be in the post soon, raping my bank account of yet more tax. Why don’t I just move to Rochdale where it’s about 20p a month in tax? Oh yeah – it’s a shit place.

One final thing for tonight, I was taking the bin bag out of the bin (apparently the bin men don’t do this for you anymore) and somebody pointed out that there were loads and loads of maggots coming out of the bag, it was a fucking infestation!

Who can take your trash out?
Stomp it down for you?
Shake the plastic bag and do the twisty thingy too?
THE GARBAGE MAN!!
Oh the Garbage Man can
(only in The Simpsons)

Of course, this hot weather must have been the perfect breeding ground for flies, just like a bluebottle brothel! Heaven knows what dead animal carcass the eggs were laid in, I haven’t thrown away any meat lately, I don’t think anybody else in the house has either. Saying that, the chap on the first floor hasn’t been seen in a while. Maybe somebody killed him and put his remains in a refuse sack! Maybe I have just watched Shallow Grave one too many times.

Good night