(no subject)

I had no idea that being poor could be such a genuine hardship. All the times I'd passed by beggars on the street and thought 'skivers!' All the times I stole their cardboard cutout signs, just for fun, only to return them to them, after they'd chased me, crying pitifully, with all their spelling mistakes neatly crossed out and corrected. And It never occurred to me that being skint is hard. And boring. And looking for jobs frantically every day when you're living on porridge and rice is really, really horrible.

Parents the the rescue! Fuck it. I know I'm a 24 year old woman of independant means and I swore to myself that I'd never ask my father's help ever again because the last time I had to do that it was because I was trying to do a degree and support a hopelessly in debt alchoholic at the same time, and although I'm sure they don't hold it against me, I prefer not to have to ask for help - but -

But I have, finally, cracked, and asked, and they've been wonderful and kind and generous. Because that's what parents are for, which is what you forget once you're past a certain stage of independence. You forget they'd do anything (just about) for you. I feel very, very grateful.

How is everybody? We miss you a lot. I even miss Charmaine.

Love to all,
Ari.xxxx