I don't mean to be difficult.....

Man Mountain is not on meet-and-greet duty. This is a first.

A Nepalese gentleman is in his place. Now, local establishments in our vicinity seem to favour employing Nepalese men as security staff. I have always put this down to their benign and totally delightful demeanour to visiting customers, which I suspect hides their terrier-like instincts to rugby tackle any ne'er-do-wells. A cunning disguise, as Baldrick would say.

The Job Centre must have searched high and low for the only grumpy Nepalese man in the county. Either that, or he has been told to drop the Mr Nice Guy and remember that this is a JC, thus full of wastrels, and not Waitrose.

Taking my place in the heaving waiting area, I am jammed into a corner and cannot help but overhear the holiday plans of the young lady next to me, talking loudly to her friend. They look very WAG-ish with hair extensions, full slap and beautifully manicured false nails, clutching their mobiles. It's a relief to hear my name called.

It's the delightful trainee from a few weeks ago and this time I scan her name badge to get her name. Alas, the JC deems trainees as unworthy of being named, and her tag just reads 'Trainee'. They really do have a way of de-humanising people, staff as well, it seems.

My frantically busy activity schedule elicits murmers of great satisfaction and I am signed-on for a further two weeks. To break the monotony, I ask about voluntary work. I had assumed this would be a common question and expected an instant and smooth response stating protocol. But my question seems to throw her. She doesn't know, but "Simon might". Oh, God, not Simon. Mr In-Tray. OK, where is Simon, so I might ask the great man myself?

The Great Man has materialised by the front door, obviously doing a stint of door-stepping. He seems human enough. I note that he is sufficiently important to warrant his name emblazoned on his chest. So, the question is asked and there is an extremely long pause.

The pause is sufficiently long enough for me to review what I have asked, just in case "Is it alright to do a bit of voluntary work?" instead mistakenly slipped out as "I'm part of an Al Qaeda terror cell and wondered what opportunities you have in the insurgence sector?" He certainly looks surprised.

The answer is "Well, it depends what you mean by voluntary?" I explain that by voluntary, it means I don't get paid for it, but it would be (a) jolly good for me to do something worthwhile, in between job-hunting, of course, and (b) jolly helpful for the organisation concerned.

As with all things involved with central government, this is not as easy as it seems, and Simon launches off on a lengthy explanation of why voluntary work for the Job Seeker is Not A Good Thing. It all gets terribly complicated and I lose focus halfway through. But by the end of it, my fond (if somewhat rose-tinted) vision of pushing the tea trolley round the hospice ward fades so far into the distance it would need a highly determined Search & Rescue team to retrieve it.

I sometimes wonder if I am the only person who asks questions like these. I'm sure, after I leave, Simon makes a note on my record, along the lines of 'troublemaker'.