The battle begins again.....

When I gave the council "What I gave the council" they deleted 'thanks to' and 'won' which meant, despite my best efforts, I lost my war for a secure tenancy. Despite the blessings, help and countless letters from nice priest, Local Hero, my doctor, my social worker, my shrink, the council put us in a hostel.

I saw the room and howled. Back in reception I said to the black woman: "Do you believe in God?" She nodded, dumbfounded. I turned to the Muslim woman: "Do you believe in God?" She too nodded in the affirmative. "So why? Why? Why when we live in a secular country the Church can evict a mother and child and all the council can do is throw us into jail???"
The Muslim woman picked up the phone. "Do we have a bigger room?"
"I don't want a bigger room!" I cried. "I don't want to be here. I'm going, I can't stay here. I can't make my son live with me here." And out I ran, hotly pursued by my social worker who said if I didn't stay there, she couldn't help me. If I stayed there, she would get me out.

I sobbed all the way back to my Church property and refused to leave. Three weeks later social worker had secured a one bedroom flat for us in a papier mache tower. When I visited it there was the burnt out shell of a car in the forecourt. "I don't want us to stay here," I told her.

Two days later she rang to say the council had deemed it appropriate and if I didn't take it, they would put us in a hostel. The night I moved in my brother and sister couldn't bring my stuff up to me as the building was blocked off by riot police. A drugs bust I later discovered.

I've been here since. It's coming up to four years now. It's got nice views of the sunset in winter time. Because the lift is always broken I have to carry my bike up seven flights of stairs. I still carry my son on the back because I can't carry two bikes and he's too young to carry his. The lifestyle keeps me fit, I'll give you that.

Just before Christmas the council came round with tidings that when our lease expires next year, they'll put me and my son in a hostel if we 'don't accept the alternatives'. The alternative is private rented accommodation. The alternative is staying on benefits forever.

This time I'm taking you on the journey with me, if you want to come along that is. You don't have to. It's pretty bleak and miserable.

Last night a friend of mine came to dinner and the subject inevitably swung to housing because I haven't seen him for a long time. "Oh when we get housed we'll live happily ever after!" I told him. My son said: "No mummy, there is no happy ever after. That's just in fairytales."

I laughed and said "You're six. You're too young to be a cynic."

Elvis told us, long ago: "People don't you understand, a child needs a helping hand, he'll turn into an angry young man someday."

We'll see hey, we'll see what the council does to us. In the meantime, enjoy the fragments of my mind, what I have learnt, what I am yet to learn.

A stigmum found a nut in the deep dark wood.
Can't go over it
Can't go under it
Fuck, damn, shit, she'll have to go through it.