We live in a caravan and have travelled all around the country. Sam and I sleep in a low-ceilinged room above the driver and passenger seats. There is a small, thin cork-board wall with boxes pinned to it for our belongings separating us from the rest of the caravan. The floor of our confined bedroom is mainly a mattress, which acts as our bed, and a small space on either side for a low, square bedside table.
There is a ladder down, and under the slanted ladder sleeps Charm, with a generous dog-bed for her tiny size. About a foot away from the ladder is a long couch, and in front of that is a table, then the corridor to mum and dad's room, then the 'kitchen' space, which is a row of an oven, a fridge, a stove, a sink and some bench-space. It's a bit confusing, the layout, I know. Anyway, under the couch and bench-tops are some storage, and above the 'kitchen' is a tv. In case you are wondering, we do have a toilet. It is in between the couches and mum and dad's bedroom. And, I don't want to sound too gross, but when the storage compartment for the loo is full, we empty it into a bin when we stop for the night. Also, when we stop for the night, we also fill our water and electricity supply. No, there is not a tank for the electricity, we just charge the caravan up.
People ask us why we live in a caravan. We tell them to guess, and they always get it right, first try. It's because mum and dad's company retired, and they borrowed money from the bank. When the loan time was up, mum and dad couldn't pay the money and were forced to sell the house and live 'like gypsies', as the bank manager apparently said, in a caravan. Sam and I were 1 and a half when it happened.
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Playing With Fire
General FictionThe title of my diary does not mean that I play with fire or I burn or that I am a fire-eater or whatever. It means I take risks. It means I risk and see what happens. My life is not easy. My family's not rich. And I don't know what to do other than...