I ought to write a book about my 2 years out of work and call it 'stranded'. No dole but subsistence allowance, charity food for 3 months of winter; I'm in a capsule, my house is my bubble of life housing my computer which is my contact with the outside world, I can't afford car insurance; my little village comprises 1 bar; 1 bar/shop, & 1 shop, I'm basically limited to only going out for my and Doudou's needs, she herslf is seeing to the needs of her newly born; the bank is one and a half hours walk northwards; I have walked to a funeral 2 hours away, and to a televised rugby international 3 and a half hours away. Friends have helped me keep my head above water. I still have a year's electricity bill to pay, but thanks to you/them it might now be possible at least to pay the insurance on my car, which I will see about as soon as I can get a lift to the office in the next town 10 miles down the road thereby ending my isolation; there again, I have to work to my priorities and the priority is the electricity bill; I need my car, but I need electricity more.
This is the kernel of the greater story of my getting stranded in Brittany in 1979 after a two weeks holiday gained a permanent (who knows?) extension.