Forms from
the Government are left unfilled, because who knows we’re here and who is going
to chase us for them? We’re uncounted
and secret. Most of us are young and
just starting out, but not all. Some of
us are older, cut adrift, reeling from lives we’ve lost, the warmth of family
and security all gone. We’re left with a
couple of bits of furniture, a laptop which also serves as a TV, and clothes. Central heating is another person’s decision,
when we eat depends on the availability of the kitchen and there is the race for
the bathroom mornings and evenings.
We’re
constantly planning while drinking endless cups of tea. Our dreams are saving money, a place of our
own on the property ladder, the end of austerity and the vague hope that something
or someone might turn up and make it better.
In truth, we don’t save anything and we don’t do anything to improve our
lives. Time and money is spent on those
short term escapes to better places; the houses of friends or lovers
and mini-breaks. Always it’s better elsewhere;
warmer, a working shower, a cosier mattress and a bigger TV screen ...
We can be caught on our way back through the door Sunday nights; “You’re
never here”, “Got the rent?”, “It was your turn to put the bins out”,
blah. Other Sundays we sneak
unbothered to the sanctuary of our rooms where dark thoughts await:-
How will they notify my loved ones if I
die? Will my loved ones care? I have let them down. I am property-less, penniless and living alone
at forty. How did this happen? I have nothing and once I had it all - all to
play for and all to fear. Well, now the
worst has happened. It has, hasn’t it?
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