Stand & Deliver: Modern Highway Robbery! Your Money or No Home!

Last week, I looked at a ‘Beautifully presented, newly refurbished, modernised home’. It lived up to the blurb in a way not many things ever do. It was indeed beautiful. It was well presented, and newly refurbished. Its brand new kitchen and bathroom, oak laminate, and white-painted smooth unmarked walls set pictures of Home Beautiful and Good Housekeeping magazine floating peacefully through my head, as cellos played and gauzy white nets fluttered in a gentle breeze. I could see modern sleek furniture in the ‘spacious’ living room. The front room, with its closed off fireplace, was already my new study. In my private little dream, I saw the beds placed just so, in each of the three double (mould-free) bedrooms. It was, in short, a dream home. And the rent, at £875 a month, was average and just within budget.

The agency fees, however, were not. As anyone in the private rental sector knows, as a tenant, you are expected to hand over a deposit (normally one month’s rent, plus another hundred. In this case, the deposit would be £975). You are also expected to pay a month’s rent in advance, which is all fine and dandy. All letting agents have ‘admin fees’. Normally, these will range between £125 – £175 per tenant. So, for myself and my husband, this would generally work out around £300, and include an inventory, tenancy agreement, and a handover of keys.

I used to work in a letting agency. The tenancy agreement is a word.doc; a bog standard bit of wording with a ‘fill in the blanks’ for address and names. Takes 5 minutes. I could run one up on this computer, right now, and it would be as legally binding as any given to me by an agent, so long as it was signed. But, of course, the agents need their income, so they charge. Kudos to them, but it’s extortion, right?

However, the agent I met with last week, to view the whitewashed paradise of this terraced house? They wanted a little bit more than the costs stated above. Take a deep breath, and hug your wallets close. Ready?

Rent £875.00
Security £975.00
T/agreement £300.00
References £225.00
Admin £150.00
Check-in £120.00
Guarantor chk £100.00
Pet Clause £75.00

A grand total of £2,820.00, to save you adding it up. £970.00 in fees alone. But it gets better. They required a ‘Good Faith’ payment of £500.00 to hold the property while they did credit checks. Checks I informed them I would not pass. My credit is shot to all buggery, and I have more chance of accidentally discovering a way to teleport humanity through black holes, defeat the Borg, and live without religion, than I have of passing anything like a credit check. This is why I have a guarantor.

The £500.00 is non-refundable, if the credit check is failed. So they get five-hundred quid, and I get to still be imminently homeless. That’s nice, isn’t it? (They said, when I kicked up a bit of a stink over this, that they would of course refund me, because I had been so open and honest with them. I asked for that in writing…the fact I do not have that house to move into gives you their answer.)

Now, you would at this point be forgiven for thinking this was one of those backstreet agents, like the abortionists and money-lenders of old. You know they’re there, but good people don’t have no truck with them. But it wasn’t. It’s a massive High Street chain, with offices all over the South of England. The smaller backstreet guys are generally more honest, in the case of lettings. They have more to lose, if people complain. Their reputation is all they really have, so they make themselves good enough that people want to do business with them.

Shelter, the homeless charity, have also noted the unfairness of these fees. They have a petition to sign, if you want to click this link and head on over to their page.

Disheartened, unable to pay nearly £1000.00 in agents fees, I walked out of the beautiful house that may have been a home, and went back to pounding the streets. My home is out there, I have no doubt, but I can’t justify paying all the money I have in the world, donated by people who are kind enough to help me, to a Highwayman of the Modern Era. The difference between these agents and Dick Turpin is, simply, they are breaking no law. Everything else, though? There’s not much between them. You have to ‘Stand and Deliver’, or you will be on the streets. There is no choice, but to pay, if you want a roof over your head and a life worth living.

So, it’s back to scouring the web, the papers, and the streets for me, and I’ll continue to believe there is something better around the corner.

Kathleen Kerridge is a Fantasy Fiction Writer. Her books can be found on Amazon here. Or here, if you are not in the UK.

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There is now a Go Fund Me page, a friend set up, to help me cover the cost of moving. I am, as always, overwhelmed by the generosity of people.

Cosmic Pigeons, Metaphorical Poop, & the 80s!

I have got to know my city.

This is one of the positives to have come my way since my eviction notice fell through my door last Thursday morning. I have walked the length, and I have walked the breadth. I walked diagonal, in circles, up and down…I could have started a one woman tourist agency. No, really, I could have. Portsmouth is a beautiful city, when you look at it with fresh eyes and an optimist’s filter. I’m a human Instagram, when it comes to making things look better than they are. Rats? Great wildlife locally! Overgrown bushes? I do love a good Nature Reserve! Crushed and discarded beer cans strewn haphazardly across the grassy patch on the corner of a road? Modern Art, dude! You get the idea.

So, in a week that has had me walk more than 60 miles, look at 5 houses, apply to view another 70 (yes, really), and speak to the Council (I saw the really cool guy who was on ‘How To Get A Council House. He’s lovely in real life), I thought I would kick back and look at those positives. Remind myself who I am, remember what I have been through, and understand that, as with all things, “This Too Shall Pass.”.

I can have a massive clear out. I am naturally a bit of a hoarder. I like *things*, and I tend to pick them up from everywhere I go. Even if it’s only to the local Tesco, I end up with some small bit of crap that caught my eye. I have enough books to fill a study, maybe enough to fill a small library. I have clothes (too small, too big, kids outgrew them…) enough to start a charity shop. Maybe a rag shop, actually, because they’re not really that great and some are from the 90s. I wish that on no-one. I found my recycling mojo kicked in when I looked in, and around, my family’s wardrobes. DVDs, CDs, and, believe it if you will, cassette tapes. I have accumulated so much tat and crap over the years, the BBC could do a one hour special on ‘Things We Should Throw In The Bin’. It’s worthless, old, and mostly junk. Positive #1 of being made homeless? I can justifiably throw away the remnants of a life long lost.
I will be forced to save every penny, and replace my mould-infested furniture. This sounds harsh, but new furniture has never really happened in my life. Not much as a child, and definitely not as an adult. I had friends with old sofas, and beds no longer used. They had tables and TV units. They had an old wardrobe, which was going to the tip. They had coffee tables and freezers. You get the idea. It’s a constant source of amazement to me, how generous my friends and family are (and in one case, how much of a shopaholic pack-rat one friend is: a lot of the ‘second hand’ things she offered to me at huge discounts were a month or two old, and she’d simply gone off them). It has meant, of course, that I have not had to buy new pieces, or spend extreme amounts of money. It has also meant I have never chosen what will go in a room, what we will sleep on, or how our dining table would look. We always ‘made do’ as many others always do. Now, thanks to all my possessions being ruined, I need replacements. I have decided I will save, constantly, when we have a secure roof over our heads, and I will buy cheap, cheerful items, chosen by me. They might well come from thrift and charity shops, indeed, they likely will, as I love the 60s & 70s home decor look (don’t judge me!), but I would have chosen them. Positive #2 of being made homeless? I can start afresh and get things I like. Also, the kids love camping – they get to have sleeping bags and roll mats, until their beds can be replaced. Yay!
I get to document everything, as it happens. The people I meet, the resources available, the robbing rental agencies! There is so much involved, when one is becoming homeless, it seems scary, daunting, and at times insurmountable. Hoops are put up to jump through, then moved, just after you have launched yourself up into the air. The rules of the game change, but that’s not so bad, because it turns out I was playing Cluedo, and everyone else was playing Chess. Typical. I’m hoping to gather enough information to be of some good to someone, somewhere. I’m not the only one out there, in this situation. I won’t be the last. So I will collate and make note of anything useful. Positive #3 of being made homeless? I can make it into a small adventure and hopefully help people as I go along my way.
I survived the Eighties. So this, in comparison, should be a piece of cake. I was brought up on a Council Estate, by a single mum, in the bloody Eighties. I had day-glo socks and a big perm. I wore white stilletto shoes and ra-ra skirts, with shoulder-pads to rival Joan Collins. I had Converse and Hi-Tec trainers. I am battle hardened to austerity, I have lived through boom times and fallen through the recessional floor. I can do this. I must do this. I will do this. Positive #4 of being made homeless? I have realised how strong I am, and that I can get through it. Because…
I have the best friends, anywhere, everywhere, in the world. Truly, you are all amazing. Thanks to your support and messages, I have not crumbled on the worst days, and I have laughed on the not-so-bad days. I’m exhausted, worn out, and disheartened. I will not patronise myself, or anyone else in the same predicament, by pretending otherwise. But thanks to all of you, I know I am not alone. Just knowing I have support, good wishes, love, and people who care? It sort of balances the cosmic pigeon enjoying itself by shitting on my head from a great height. I might be getting shat on, but you all hand me the baby wipes to clean myself up and carry on. Thanks go to all of you, but a special mention will be made here to a lovely woman, Zoe Gray. She heard what had happened and set to making a difference. There is now a Go Fund Me page, if you would like to help financially. Many of you have asked, and now, thanks to Zoe, there’s one set up.

So, it’s hard, being made homeless. Bloody hard. But there are positives, if you know where to look. I’m off now, to drink some coffee and tend to the immense and epic blisters I have. Then I’ll throw clothes away and old ornaments, and maybe even that old shirt I have had since I was 11. I’ll sing along to Material Girl, and throw out mouldy linens. And I’ll hope for some kind of cosmic Pest Control guy to come and kill the cosmic pigeon. I’ll remember this is but another phase, and I will be moving on. I’ll remember I have friends and people who want to help me — and in turn, I’ll remember to accept that help.

Kathleen Kerridge is a Fantasy Fiction Writer. Her books can be found on Amazon here. Or here, if you are not in the UK.

Lightning Strikes Twice

Benefits, Private Renting, and The Ever Feared Possession Order.

Can a rented property ever become a home? It’s an important question but one we rarely think about when we look at renting. Buying a house will likely always remain an impossible dream for me; bad credit and worse health mean that the ideal of home ownership will not be mine to know. That’s okay, I made my peace with that a long time ago. It’s not an issue…or at least, it had never been one before.
I first wondered about it when my last landlord went down with the recession and plummeted as fast as my husband and I did. We were reminded, in the harshest possible way, that we were not in control of what happened to us. He needed to sell the house. Fast. So, one morning, out of the blue, he called me to tell me I had six weeks to find a new place to live.
I remember the horror, the panic, and the consuming terror. In one sentence: “I need to sell the house.”, he had made me homeless. We entered a nightmare of uncertainty and sleepless nights. My health worsened, my mental state hit the darkest place it had been in a long time. We couldn’t be housed with all four of our children: properties with 4 bedrooms were rarer than goldfish riding bicycles. My eldest daughter, then 16, moved in with my mother and, as a shrunken family of 5, rather than 6, we found a 3 bedroom house in the private sector, with the help of our local council. We were told it would be affordable, long term, as secure as it could be, and better managed than the home we had lived in for 8 long years.
We were lied to on all counts.
Our new house is, as you will know from previous posts, riddled with black mould and damp. The walls run with water. The windows don’t shut and open fully. The back doors do not lock. The roof needs flashing, there are rats in the rafters, the bath leaks into the living room…and at £800 a month, it was too expensive for us on our new, much diminished, wages and tax credits.
And today, I received the second eviction notice in 4 years. Ironic, I know, considering the year I have had so far, helping other homeless people and pointing families to the right places to go, so they may also find help. Now, it’s happened to me. Again.
This time, I looked at the paper deciding my fate, and I realised I felt nothing. Only worry about where we would go. I looked around at the walls that keep us locked away (to an extent) from the outside world, and realised it was not my home. Just a shell. It was never, had never, would never be, my home.
My biggest concern is financial. I can afford rent, but a deposit and between £300 – £400 administration fees on top of an £800 rent are well beyond my means. It may as well be a mortgage application. How can fees of £200 per person be justified? How am I meant to find that money?
The simple answer is, sadly, that I can’t find that money. We’re on a breadline. That doesn’t miraculously change because we’re facing, yet again, homelessness. Despite receiving assistance with our rent, that assistance can’t be used for a deposit, or to pay for advance rent. It can’t cover the administration fees. It can’t find moving costs. I need everything from a washing machine to beds for my daughters, as this house was part-furnished. I have to start over from scratch. It’s a scary prospect, when I thought I was in a stable situation.
I am one of thousands facing this dilemma. There’s not really any options, or places to turn to. I have an appointment with Housing Options, at my local council, but I know I only have a slim chance of a future with anything approaching security. There may be help to allow me to pay a deposit over time, but I know what I’m facing and I know how much I need to be able to pay out of my own pocket. When you are living on a breadline, it’s hard to keep a chin up, and a lip stiff. But I shall, as always, endeavour. I plan to document this journey and keep you all informed, right to the end. Whatever the outcome, wherever my family end up, I’ll be chatting to you as we go. From £1 a day living (to try and save every penny possible), to selling off anything I have left to sell (not much, my wedding ring and other jewellery are long gone), I will let you all know.

I have until November 24th to relocate, settle, and maybe find a home. It can’t all be bad. I’m not a naturally pessimistic person. If there’s a bright side, I’ll find it! I’m hoping for laughter, as well as tears. I’m hoping for a life my children will be happy to live. I’m hoping for a small space, somewhere, where I can plug myself into the mains, and write my books. I’m hoping. Hope, right now, is one thing I have in abundance.
So watch this space. We’re going on an adventure, and you’re invited to tag along.

Kathleen x

Kathleen Kerridge is an Amazon Best Selling author of LGBT+ fantasy fiction. Her books are available here (UK) and here (rest of world). She can be found on Facebook, and Twitter, so come and say Hi!

Disconnect The Poor In The Internet Age

The Internet Is Not A Luxury. It needs to be said before we go any further.

If you have children, they need it for homework and studies. They need it to send in assignments and to keep up to date with coursework. “Libraries!” I hear some of you shouting, “Go to an Internet Cafe!” All well and good, but for a lot of people, their nearest library is in the centre of their town or city and would mean a two mile walk each way. Sometimes more. The walk would have to be done daily after school–because buses are not cheap and feet are free. This is, of course, after leaving the house at 7:30am, walking the half an hour to school in all weathers and putting in a full day of studying. Internet Cafes’ charge for the privilege of using the computers. It is not a viable option for most.

To not have the internet at home, a child from a poor family would have to stay out of the family home for approximately (in our case and based on the distances my daughter walks to school) another three hours. She would not get home until around 7pm at night…and would have to walk in the dark, through a not-exactly-great area of the city (neither myself or my husband drive; we cannot afford a car…and cannot afford the lessons anyway). Meg is a straight A student. She dreams of university life and becoming a doctor. It is all she has wanted to do since she was four years old. At just turned sixteen, she keeps a relentless study schedule. She works from 8.00am through to 9.00pm as it is. At home, she is safe, [mostly]warm and can eat her dinner as she studies.

The Internet Is Essential. We are told the way to lift ourselves high and achieve riches untold, is to be well-educated and get a professional career. Are only the children of the comfortable and the rich allowed to follow this dream? Are the children of the poor to be raised with the depressing knowledge in their young heads that their lot in life is to serve the children of the rich? To clean, and sweep and toil and slave, with no hope of realising their aspirations and dreams…because school work now requires an internet connection, to get the best education available. Each time a struggling family is told their internet is a luxury, they are told their children do not deserve the access to it in the home. They are told their children should be thankful for their lot, and stay in the ‘place’ they were born.

There are disabled people, housebound and alone for weeks on end. They do not have the option of walking the two miles (or more) to their library, to be able to sit down and make some contact with relatives living apart from them. To see pictures of their newest little cousins, or a new grandchild. They cannot spare the money from their living allowances or benefits to use an internet cafe. To say to them that the Internet is a luxury they can do without, to save money, is to isolate them and cage them in their loneliness. The quality of life of the elderly and infirm increases dramatically, if they are taught to use a computer, laptop or even a smart-phone, and can access and utilise the web. Depression caused by isolated living is lifted, just a little. Shopping can be done, friends spoken with, people contacted, programmes watched. The Internet is essential. That they need to choose between eating, heating, or human contact is appalling, and they should not be expected to make that choice.

Job seekers are told, by the Job Centre, to apply for an initial interview online. School Admittance Forms? Fill them out online. Best grocery offers? Online. Job searching? Property rental? Council Housing Register? You’ve guessed it–it’s all online.

Is it reasonable, therefore, to look at the poorest sections of our society and tell them to save money–sometimes as little as £6.99 a month–by getting rid of their internet. Are we, as a society, so judgemental that we believe those in the poorest households must sit in the dark, without a television, without a computer, without communication? Is that what we have become, now, thanks to the portrayal of poverty in the media? To take away the web, is to disconnect more than Google. It is to disconnect ourselves.

If you are affected by any of these issues and would like to chat, or ask for help, please do contact my Facebook page HERE. I answer all messages that come through to me and will always try to point you in the right direction if you need help/advice.

The Upsetting Truth…Part Two!

Everything I do seems to have a sequel. It’s funny how life can be like that. I really felt that some points needed to be addressed, however. There are a lot of misconceptions surrounding the Unseen Poor. Let’s kick back with a cuppa and have a chat about a few of them, shall we? Make yourself comfortable and come sit with me. Keep your coat on, it’s not cold enough for heating, but you’re probably going to feel the chill in my house if you’re not used to it. My family and I are used to it. Our old house never had heating for three years, thanks to an indifferent and incompetent landlord. While being evicted when he sold the house was distressing and has left me terrified it will happen again, this house is better. Even with penetrating damp, crumbling walls and mould. We had white fluffy mould and green mildew in the last house–this time we have black mould. It’s good to switch it up, don’t you think? Look carefully and you can make patterns and faces from it. It passes the time.

Comfy? As warm as you’re likely to get? Great! Let’s do this thing…

Jamie Oliver did not deserve your anger. How dare you insult him? He’s trying to help you, you ungrateful b**ch. Get a grip, he’s doing the best he can.

Okay, now. Hold your horses and calm down a little. Take a deep calming breath.

My post was not a direct attack at Jamie personally. I am disappointed that I am unlikely to get the chance to divorce ‘The Hubs’ and marry Jamie now, but it was not a sensationalist piece of writing done with the sole aim to piss off all my fellow Jamie fans. What angered me is that the tag line for his show was “You Can Eat Like A King Whatever Your Budget.” My budget, Jamie, is £45 a week to feed a family of five. I eat healthy and I eat well, but it sure ain’t like a king.

I manage to do it and I never said I could not feed my children. I said that there are times I might have to make do with a bowl of rice, so they can eat the 20p packet of spaghetti with a home made tomato sauce, pimped up with some Tesco Value dried oregano, so it tastes Italian. I have said that there are times that I can’t afford to heat my house (I already spend £20 a week on gas, thanks to the meter taking a debt as well) and I have to choose between heating, or buying food. I will drink a lot of water, instead of eating a lunch, if the cupboards are depleted. The kids need that food, I am old enough to wait and bide awhile. My mum helps a lot, but I do get by on the budget I have. I don’t find it too hard, either. I never meant to imply that £45 is not enough for food, it is. Mostly.

Now, Jamie, what upset me…really upset me to the point of nearly crying, was when you, on your programme, Money Saving Meals, tried to tell me, with my £45 a week food budget, that I could save money by buying a £22 shoulder of lamb. I am certain Jack Monroe was likewise appalled at the blasé presumption that this richly priced joint of meat could ever be seen as affordable by a large portion of the people you purport to be helping. I hope that clears it up a little bit for anyone who thought I was simply laying into you for no reason. My ire was not only directed at you, but at the producers, programme developers and all the rest of you who, rightly, do not have to live as I do. It is not budget. Give me a call, Jamie–you taught me all I know, I would be more than happy to teach you in return. I make a wicked vegetable curry.

Sell your computer. Get rid of your TV. You have luxury items.

No, no and…no.

This is indicative of how well we are socially conditioned to believe those left wanting can heal their situation simply by getting rid of parts of their lives deemed superfluous. My children, the three at home, are all at school. Their homework requires the internet. A lot does. My son’s college course is entirely computer based (it is a computer course, so this makes sense). He would love a laptop, but I can’t get him one. He works part time and has recently had to purchase a new bed for himself as I could not afford it. He went to Ikea and got a nice one–and my youngest daughter received a ‘new’ mattress as a result. This is how things work, you see? We re-use, recycle, stick together and get on through! We have the one computer, which is my main source of income. I am an author, I am just starting, in the scheme of things. I have no agent, no publicist, no advertising budget aside from my Facebook Page and word of mouth. And now this blog. Yes, I will use it to promote my work; I self publish and I am only just starting to see anything come from it. I had my first book out for free, to get my name seen, for several months, while I wrote the sequel. I write–it is how I will make money and get off benefits. If there are any legit agents out there…well, you know, I’m free. You all rejected me once, but I’m open to the idea of a second chance 😉

To tell me to lose the web and to sell my PC (A GIFT FROM A FRIEND) is to tell my children they cannot do their coursework, studies, homework and research to the absolute best standard available to them in this country. It is to tell me I do not have the right to work as an author. Work. I do not, as has been said, lounge around writing blogs for my entertainment. I am a selling author and have been for 7 months. I have no intention and no reason to sell the TV. It is the only one in the house, and the kids enjoy it. Why shouldn’t they? Giving up the TV will not make the hard times better. These suggestions are painful to read. You are telling me that I can ‘fix’ my poverty by removing a television and my source of income. It’s not fair to assume a torn off limb could be mended with a plaster; please realise this situation is not going to be helped by losing my children’s source of enjoyment and it will be worsened if I cannot write and earn royalties from my books.

Thank you so much, all of you who bought a book. You have no idea how fast the 29p royalties add up when hundreds are buying.

You took your daughter to Cardiff

This one is an easy one. I should not have to justify taking one of my four children somewhere for their birthday, but I will. I’ll also tell you how I did it.

Meg, my daughter, turned 16 shortly after the new year. All of her friends are doing the big American parties and ‘Sweet Sixteen’ stuff. I said I would try and find a free hall, maybe pay for a DJ and lay out an Iceland Party-Style buffet. She said no, thank you but no thank you, because it would end up very expensive and she’d have nothing to show for it afterwards. She said it was a waste of money. I save up for the Big occasions, and 16 is a milestone. I told Meg I would give her a party, that I could afford it. She said no. She asked, instead, to go to The Doctor Who Experience. She asked in October–do you know many 15 year old girls who would have the foresight to ask 4 months in advance to go to to something where the tickets cost £16.00 for an adult? Me neither, but my daughter did just that. I Immediately went onto hostelworld.com. They gather all the backpacker hostels on one site, you punch in a postcode, they show you what’s available in that area. We stayed in a room with bunk beds and a single bed. My mum came to help cover the cost of the room, and to buy us some food while we were there. Luckily, the Nomad has a big kitchen you can use, so it’s almost like self catering. They also feed you cereal in the morning. All this is £40 a night for the room and breakfast for three people. I booked in October and paid a £20 deposit. I then started squirrelling the money away for the extortionate train tickets and the tickets for Doctor Who himself.

We did not spend a fortune in the mall–I said go prepared to spend a lot, because it is very expensive…if you buy anything. I should have added that we window shopped in that mall for 6 hours. It was good fun. They have a Lego Store and we looked at individual Lego, but we did not buy any. We walked to Cardiff Castle, and we looked at that too. We did not pay £22 each to walk up the stairs and actually see it. That’s how much they charge, to walk past the gates. I never had that much in my purse, not for me and Meg to go. Had she really wanted to have seen inside, I would have paid for her ticket and sat looking at the walls, with my mum. Meg said no. The Saturday night was spent in the recreation room of the Nomad, talking to a backpacker and watching the voice, munching on a Tesco salad bowl. The high life of luxury? Not quite.

I loved visiting, but I found it over priced and impossible, even though I left all my family at home, bar one daughter. Please do not resent her birthday present. She has a right to be allowed gifts and treats, just the same as other children. Without my mum, we could not have gone at all.

You should not have bred. You shouldn’t have had children. You’re not fit to parent. You should have got Critical Illness Cover. Kill yourself, they’ll be better off. Just go die somewhere and stop moaning. You should have insurance. You should have saved.

This is simply ignorance at its best, isn’t it?

Because I am poor, I should not have children? I work and work hard. So does my husband. We did not know what was coming and we were young enough to feel immortal. Why would I have thought of critical illness cover? I have life insurance–when this illness kills me, which it will one day, my husband and children will be shooting out of this poverty trap. I have to die to fix this. I will not cancel an insurance I had the foresight to take out aged 22. Not to save pennies. It’s a good policy and I got it before my condition. It will leave my family comfortable. I myself will be going off to medical science when I do die. Rest assured, it won’t be because I have taken the above advice though–that would void my insurance.

On a side note, when I said ‘the good times’ they were simply comfortable, not rich. I could fill my cupboards and not worry about feeding us all. I was able to replace shoes/trainers and I could meet expenses. At no point have I had enough to take my kids abroad. They have been on two Haven Holidays; one in 2004, to Warmwell (it was amazing, even though I was pregnant), and one in 2006, just before it all went downhill, to Clacton-On-Sea. They loved it and I hope to be able to go again, one day.

Now that’s over, onto the good stuff!!! (Yay, I was depressing myself, and I’m not a gloomy kind of gal.)

Food Banks do not require Social Services Intervention. You will not be deemed as Too Poor To Parent, if you go to your GP and get a referral. The Citizens’ Advice Bureau can also do this, as do some churches, outreach programs and community-based groups. Some do not need a referral. If you are in dire need and cannot find these resources, please contact your local Sikh Temple. I was contacted by a few dozen lovely people from a temple who said all are welcome to sit with them, enjoy a vegetarian meal. It is, to the Sikh Community, a religious obligation to help their fellow humans and treat all equally. They will welcome you and your children. Women, please wear a headscarf, if you have no scarf, they will supply one for you.
There are a lot of benefits a lot of the ‘invisible working poor’ are not aware of. If you are struggling, please go to your Citizens’ Advice Centre. They will make bloody sure you are getting all you can. I have done this and I *do* receive all I am entitled to. It is simply not enough to cover rent, council tax, heating, water, electric, other bills…you get the idea. You, though, may be in a different place and there may be more help available to you. I shall be applying for this PIP allowance everyone has told me about. I have had a little over a thousand messages and comments telling me about this. I was turned down for DLA, but who knows, eh? I’ll be doing that next week.
There are community groups that might sound a bit like a communist soup kitchen to the uninitiated, but are actually amazing when you delve a bit deeper. These places will have community gardens and often an attached hall. Sign up, learn some gardening, cook and eat what you grow with new friends–all in the same boat. You can ask about these at your local council offices.
Poverty is a big issue amongst LGBT people. Please know there is support and people out there who will be able to talk to you and help you. There is no need to be alone. If you want advice, a chat, or help with anything, please contact Stonewall as a starting point–they will point you in the right direction.
You can get emergency payments to cover rent, from your local council, if you are entitled. It is not simply Housing Benefit. This is a further award that might be given, if you are in dire straits.
There are support groups as well. These vary considerably depending on where you live, but they should be there. If not, come out as ‘poor’ and see if one can be started. I have had an overwhelming response. Not simply from people who are jobless and on JSA, but nurses, teachers, office staff, waiting staff–the list is as varied as any community ever is. I…we…are not alone, and we have nothing at all to be ashamed of. Poverty shaming only works if you allow it to work. Group together and stand tall.

Please please please feel free to contact me via my Facebook Page if you need a friendly ear, or are unsure of which way to turn, just email me or send me a FB Message. You are not alone. I have asked a friend and my husband to help admin the site. We are keeping on top of all messages and, where we can, we will point you in the right direction, if you need help. Even if you just need to offload and reach out to someone, that’s okay too. Please be aware that my page is all about full equality in all things. Please be respectful of everyone who likes it and pops by to visit. We’re a motley bunch of all things Rainbow. We don’t care how you identify, what your sexual preference is, or where you come from. You will be welcomed.

I would also like to say if you would like to donate and help food poverty, contact your local food banks or The Trussel Trust, who will be able to help you.

Please feel free to pick up one of my books (shameless plug, I know, but it is seriously the only job I have to be able to work my way out of the Grey Area). The series is called Searching For Eden, and there are currently two books available here (uk) and here (rest of world). The paperback of #1, Into The Woods, can be found here.

Thank you all again for all the support. I am humbled by you all.

kathleen kerridge

Tag: citezens advice