I meant nothing by it, except that we are a working poor family and, later on today, I will have to go round phoning, 'My husband is a working man, but we have still partial housing benefit. Our tenancy comes to an end at end September . . .'
'Working parents should be given more support and access to affordable housing.'
Goodness, don't I know!?
Oh, don't I know?
I have put it all off. I stay up till hours like this, I cry tears as salty as the sea loch just metres away from here. I have nowhere to confess it or even say it but for here. My own mother blames me for it - doesn't get it, doesn't want to, oh, who cares not it's a moot point?
I cannot sleep for this. If I want to sleep I've to tranq myself, it's that bad.
What are we to do? Oh, Gott, wot?
We've no place to live ourselves in just three months.
I've every sympathy with the OP, believe you me.
I could cry a thousand lochs for the shame of it, I could. But it would make no difference so it would.