Cleaning up shit

At 4am this morning I was cleaning up shit. Because that's my job. (Except, as a carer it's a job I'm expected to to do for nothing. Nothing being very slightly less than the insulting carers' allowance that those who can't work alongside caring get. Which is slightly less again than the pitiful minimum wage … Continue reading Cleaning up shit

Knowing better

When I was ten years old, I had a best friend. Her name was Helen. She lived ten minutes up the road on a smallholding with ponies (!) and had her own (rickety, damp-smelling) caravan, where we used to spend our afternoons hiding from our little brothers, singing Jason & Kylie songs, trying on lipstick … Continue reading Knowing better