• Lindsey Marilyn Bentley. I love my name! Lindsey derives from a Scottish place and as my Mothers family are from Scotland it was only fair and Marilyn after the actress Marilyn Monroe; my mum loves her. All of this is my Mothers' creation... all except Bentley. That's my Fathers family name. I would change it to Berkeley, my Mums' maiden name but she says that it's only right that I take my Fathers name, even if I don't like it. I suppose they both start with ''B''...
    My Mum is very proper. She likes things to be done right. By ''right'' I mean her way. But that's a good thing; it means that we have a very nice life here in the good part of Clapham, London. We live in a three story, five bedroom house with a reasonable size garden. Our neighbours are two working families whose' children go to the same school I did, Parkgate House School. It's a good school, for the money my Mother paid it should be! But she wanted the best for me, that’s why she always worked overtime when I was younger; to get us the things we wanted. Not anymore.
    I have a lot of things. Some people would say that I have too many things. In fact some have said that, but that’s all a part the jealousy people get when they see someone with something they want, that's what mum says. I love having all the things that other people want and will never get. Once, when I was little, I met some girls from the council estate in the park. We played for a while and then I invited them back to my house to see my room. I let us in because Mum was at work and we went up to my room. When I started showing then my stuff they suddenly went quiet. I thought that maybe they didn't like Nintendo Game boy Colours' are the latest, most expensive TV or my Play station and all of the 40 or so games I had. This was a wonder to me because if I had been them (i.e. poor) I would have died at seeing that some other kid had all the latest games consoles. I asked them what was wrong and immediately they started asking me questions about my parents, why weren't they home? Why did I have so many toys and games? ''What's the point in having designer clothes?'' one of them said ''It only means that you have to be really careful when you're playing in case they get dirty and you have to pay like, a million pounds to get them cleaned!''. Then they started to make fun of me, saying that only posh stuck up people have things like me and live in a big house and they have cleaners and they hate everyone who wasn't rich. I'd never heard of such things before in my life and I serenely didn't think that I looked down on people who didn't have lots of money like me and my Mum. This all really upset me, but I didn't show that. I shouted at the two girls' ''MAYBE I DO HATE ALL OF YOU! YES, I DO HATE YOU, NOW GET OUT OF MY HOSUE BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!!'' the threat of police seemed to shake them and they ran off back to the park, still jeering at me.
    That was the day that I learned that council people are bad news. When Mum got home that night I told her all about it and she said that they were all like that, they hated the fact that they were so poor, even though it was their own faults for not getting proper education, so they picked on us rich, intelligent people, just because they felt bad. She said that they were probably only playing with me in the first place to get me to bring them back here so they could see what we had and I was lucky they hadn't stolen anything. And she was right, I've seem it proved many a time over the years. They throw things at you and call you names. Very un-imaginative ones of course. And they all take drugs, or sell drugs or get kids alcohol from the shop. It's all because they can't be bothered to do well in school and get good jobs. Or even try to get a bad job that pays really badly. They just want to sit around on their backsides all day and take money from people like my hard-working Mother!
    And I'm going to be living in a place just like the council area of Clapham. Only worse... Birmingham! Mugger’s heaven for Britain! Oh dear God how will I cope? And for a whole two months as well. See my Mum is going travelling around the world, well mainly Asia actually, with a guy she met in a bar, somewhere along the M6 when she was away on one of her business trips. This is all very out of character for my ‘Lovely Mum’. The bar, talking to a stranger and especially with him looking and being like he is, long hair, little goatee, scraggy clothes... HE LOOKS LIKE A KILLER! One of those men you see on Watchdogs most wanted. And then she’s' taken it so fast with him, they only met 6 months ago and now they're ditching me to go and help little bombed kids or something, I don't know. I mean, she's given up her job for all this, her very highly paid, highly respected job! WHY?! She spent 15 years getting there and them she drops it just like that, I just can't understand it. It's me that should be going travelling not her. I took a gap year only to find out that my passport expired and my mother refused to renew it. She said that I should start taking responsibly for myself. I think she's just trying keep me here so that I can't follow her and lover boy Mark to Iraq or wherever. No, I'm not allowed to go away like all my friends have, and I'm not allowed to stay in this big house by myself, even though I’ve pleaded and begged. Nope, I've got to go and stay with my Father who I haven't seen in ten years. My Mum and Dad divorced when I was two years old, so I wouldn’t remember him living with us, but I used to go and stay with him on the council estate in Birmingham until I was eight and decided that I didn't want to see him anymore. He's one of the down and outs I was talking about. Although I don't think he took drugs, or sold them for that matter. But he did drink for a long time and he didn't have a job. I think he's a builder or something now... Or is it a painter? Either way it doesn't matter, he makes peanuts compared to what Mum used to earn.
    So, looks like I’m going to Birmingham. The dumpster of Britain. Home to all of the down and outs of this once great country. Oh dear, I do hope that I don’t pick up any crude slang without realising!
    Copyright: Indigo of the family Rose