Reunions a chance to let go, right?

Some friends can't understand why, how, I've not let go of my school days. Well, the answer is, because it's been hard. I did let go of it in Japan (or so I thought), came home overland by foot and everything, contacted four friends then got pregnant by one of them.

Here goes, the top three events that have ensured that the memories of that school come back and back and back and have caused two mental breakdowns as consequence, maybe even three. Hopefully not four.

Having a baby with the Foca. Prime cutlet of first class gossip me. Then dumped. Then (effectively) evicted from his brothers house (oh why didn't I take it to court?). I'll tell them me and the Foca are bezzy mates if they ask.
It's all about being judged isn't it, always has been and here is my chance to stand in the face of all that judgement. I reckon that's what most people are afraid of, nervous of, what people find quite traumatic. Do you like being judged? Are you afraid of it? I wish I was going back as a film star, rock star! Human rights lawyer. Millionaire. Seriously feckin' rich. No. I'm going back as a single mother on benefits. I'm thinking how lucky I am that I was never Head Girl.

Being evicted by the church when my son was two years old. Throw yourself at the Bishop's mercy the good priest told me. "We have no duty to care for you."
You were sent by Satan to do the Devil's work . I file that under trauma

Facing eviction and threatened with hostels twice
The school link: Detention, sometimes indefinite detention. 'Housebound' they called it then. 'Early Nights' they call it now. Can file that under trauma too.

What is going to this reunion going to achieve? That if I end up in a hostel indefinitely I will survive?
It's not going to achieve anything, is it? I cried so hard the other night, so hard, as the thought of our next eviction loomed into my mind. Fighting for my son again, for his education, that whole threat of displacement, how living with me puts him at risk of so much change and insecurity that perhaps it would be better that he goes to live with his father. His father who can give him what I can't. I ground those tears, god they're so painful, then thought no. My child doesn't want to be separated from me and I will not sacrifice him, even if his life away from me is better.

Sorry to admit this to you, but there is so much pain in my life

Fuck, sorry.

The man was nice on the phone to me yesterday. I told him I was a bit scared, bad memories n all. He said last year a 64 year old man came back for the first time who'd hated the place. Another guy, a major in the army, came back and cried.

So many of us hated it back then, I said. Alot's changed. There's no saturday morning school anymore for starters.

The man said things like "we'll take care of you"

and I thought no and I cried no and I cried and cried some more and some more and I couldn't stop and I thought I'm not a victim

I'm not a creep
I'm not a loser
I'm not um, a wierdo
I do belong here
and Radiohead is a great name for a band and that is a great song.

Itineries

I have to call the council and tell them how much stuff I have for them to deliver to the new place.

On Friday they called asking me to let them know yesterday and I duly called but I still didn't know.

Annie, Issy and I packed 15 boxes between us on Sunday afternoon, in between numerous cups of tea. The flat looks like we didn't even get started. Shamefully I only managed to box up two more yesterday. One with books, one with cds. I need the music to carry me through the rest of the week.. don't want to pack that yet...

The woman was very accommodating on the phone yesterday, didn't make me feel any pressure. I tried to guess what I'd take:

"I have a washing machine, a book case, 1 set of shelves, about 50 boxes, 10 laundry bags, a hoover and a guitar."

"Does the guitar need to go into storage?" she asked.

"Storage? No, no, everything's coming with me, it's a bigger space where we're going."

Split second panic subsided.

Sunday night, my mate Charlie came round with more boxes. I'd taken out "My Book That Will Never Be Published" to show him some crappy little thing I'd written about the July 7th bombings (which as you might know an inquiry about it is in the news at the moment). After that phone call, I picked it up again.

There's a chapter called "Suffer Little Children". It's the fear I felt in 2005 of going into a hostel.
In it I'm raging, defiant, that I will take all my son's toys with us, that his life is not going into storage.

It was odd looking back on it. Back then, under 5's weren't prioritised, then the policy changed soon after.

We're not going into a hostel, we're not, we've escaped it again. I've a great deal to be thankful for right now instead of contemplating my defeat.

Right, I best get some packing done.

Still no idea what I'll say to the woman when I call her again, so perhaps I will call her to tell her I will call her tomorrow.

I need to call the electricity company too (thieving fuckers) and Virgin Media, flip and the tv licence people.

Who else? Oh bollocks... who else?

Dilemma of two bed I've been offered

The two bedroom flat in a great location is not the best the council can offer me
but the best I can accept
The best the council could have offered me is the two bed I bid on a couple of weeks ago, or the one the week before that, or the ones every week before those

Although I suspect that some members of society would rather see me and my child placed in a hostel, it is worth knowing that these rooms cost £400 a week.

Build build build, cap landlord's rent

Child Protection

If we end up in a hostel, there is something very very wrong with this system. Never let it be said that it's my choice to take my son to one. But if the council does put us there Allocations, and this is what I need an answer to; if we are and social services slam a protection order on my son, will this help us or will this harm us?

Part of an email sent to allocations this evening. I'd give you the whole lot but I'm fucking tired.

All I will say is I need an answer to it.

Choices

Honey has discovered she's pregnant by her son's godfather. He is married with a daughter. She does not wish to be pregnant but does not believe in abortion.

Today she told me she'd decided to move into Private Rented Accommodation. She said she feels selfish forcing her son to live in a cramped room. She said she needs somewhere with a bath as her boy has severe eczema and has to be soaked twice a day.

When she said she was thinking of moving outside the borough I said: "You are aware you'll lose your residency points after one year and you'll no longer be Camden's concern?"

I remember when I was pregnant and the Foca and I were looking for somewhere to live. I wanted somewhere with a bath, he said a baby didn't need one. I said a baby did, a toddler did, a bath was a space where a child could play. His sister in law backed him, her husband, his brother, backed me. We moved into their flat-with-bath as they were relocating to America. Foca was my landlord.

Both rooms in England's Lane that I was shown and those I later visited for my thesis research, didn't have a bath. In many hostel rooms there is no space to play. That's one reason they are not suitable for children, no matter what the policy dictates.

So Honey may move. Minnie's staying for now. "It's swapping secure accommodation for insecure accommodation, why would I do that?"

Don't ask me Minnie, don't ask me.