More from the workhouse

The picture is of women picking oakum in St Margaret's Union Workhouse, Westminster. As a matter of fact one of my ancestors, a lunatic beggar, died there in the 1840s. Poor bastard.
I am to be sent on a month-long training course from tomorrow. I have to admit that, because I'm a complete spastic, I must surely be able to benefit from a beginners' computer course. I did explain to the lady that I used to manage and train teams of people to a higher level than this. I did explain to the lady that I produced very sophisticated computer-generated documents for my NVQ3 in management. I did explain to the lady that I used computers in order to gain a first class degree.
 I despair. Could you imagine sending someone with a good mathematics degree on a beginners numeracy course? What is the purpose? I am completely bewildered. I know I'm probably not quite like most of the people who wander through their doors, but I feel that I'm being taken for a complete cunt. I've already been on a week-long course to prove that I'm capable of writing three whole sentences.
I feel quite outraged by my treatment. I am angry too, about the shocking waste of all the public money that is being thrown at this idiotic venture. I am angry too, because history is repeating itself; I am telling people what I can do, I have written proof of what I can do, but no-one is taking the blindest bit of notice. Please, please, nice lady at the place, I know you hear what I say, but please, please listen.