Would be helpful I suppose. Many interesting and colourful characters people my life, the main ones being:
Eldest Son (age 11)
Middle Son (age 6)
The Youngest. Daughter
Father of Eldest Son – Mr D.
Father of Middle Son and The Youngest – Mr S.
Plus a variety of friends and acquaintances, who shall be referred to by an initial in order to protect their privacy.
And then of course there’s myself. I should I suppose, issue a warning of sorts here. Anybody who is secretly hoping for noble and romantic tales of struggle against all odds, and poverty stricken devotion, is going to be sorely disappointed. I am not any sort of brave heroine living on the top floor of a tower block and scrubbing public toilets for a living in order to feed her angelic children. Sorry. I live in a perfectly nice rented house, in a perfectly nice village that could even be described as teetering on twee. And I am the sort of mother that has half eaten packets of crisps decomposing on the back seat of her car, and children who seem permanently to look as if they could do with a bit of a hair cut.
Actually, the area in which I live is one of the few places left where the traditional nuclear family remains strong, and the most common set-up. I in fact have a sneaking suspicion that a sizeable proportion of the women who live here married the first man who felt them up. There are a couple of other single mothers, but I am the only one, to my knowledge, whose children have different dads.
I get paid to work for Women’s Aid when there’s enough money around to employ me. The rest of the time I do it for free.