
I sometimes wonder how I ended up in my job.
I remember everyone in the office's amused smiles and evasive explanations when I applied for it. Bu I was bribed with a promotion, so there we are.
That was four years ago, and the job still bowls me googlies from time to time.
Like today.
I had to come up with a spreadsheet to carry out over-claim checks on the first quarterly advance subsidy payments for the national housing revenue account. And bellieve me that's only half as exciting as it sounds.
Now, in previous years we have been able to compare caseloads across years, and guideline increases against various rent measures. Last year we introduced a new policy which rendered these measures meaningless. This year we complicated the system, and next year we are relinquishing responsibility for the entire programme.
That bit I like.
In the meantime, however, I have to create this overclaim check from three sets of largely incompatible data and then make it defensible in argument against housing authorities who may well feel hard done to when my usual draconian approaach to the public purse becomes apparent.
I came up with a possible solution which made our IT bloke's ears bleed trying to follow the logic. Pride doesn't cover my feelings of achievement. Neither does logic. Still, tomorrow, if I can remember what I was rabbiting about, I shall try and explain my theory of quantum housing finance to him again. If I can convince him, I can convince anybody.
I am regularly called upon to try and fit square pegs in round holes for HM Government.
But this is the first time I've been given a glass hammer to help...
Oh Lordy.