I grew up in a council house on an estate. We kids were painfully aware that we were one of the few houses on the estate that were NOT privately owned.

Why? Because I was bullied and teased for being a council house kid. I was different because mum couldn’t afford the clothes and shoes.

I was different because I was wierd and liked books rather than boys or clothes… and the people that I did like as friends were just as wierd as me.

It didn’t stop me having goals.

One of them was to own my own house to make sure that my family always had a home and so that we didn’t have to worry about being kicked out again.

Goddess, was I naive or what…

Fast forward to the end of my University Degree. I went looking for jobs, only to realise that my degree was useless for anything that would get me enough money for a mortgage.

I went into Teaching eventually. But even with my partner’s Consultancy job pay, we just about broke even.

Now?

No chance.

I used to be able to imagine walking into an estate agents, viewing houses, deciding with my partner which to get, moving in and making it ours.

Life has not been kind.

We live in a Housing Association house. My partner is disabled and I am his carer. We have kids to feed.

I can’t even imagine having a positive bank balance for longer than an hour.

And now… with the current cost of living crisis, I am looking at taking away the little luxuries that my family enjoys to be able pay for the internet (the way I earn money), pay for communication, for energy and food.

And this govt wants “working” families to buy their houses?

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