Granny for sale...

 I'm back! Here I am, fresh from not one but TWO TV appearances! Don’t worry, I haven’t gone all ‘diva’ on y’all! I'd like to say thank you for all the wonderful support I've received re: Text Santa and Central News. You lovely lot! I’ve not blogged until now as I really have been incredibly busy over the last week; mainly writing ridiculously important albeit stroppy letters to the DWP and practising my autograph...

I had a lovely time at the Text Santa live show last week, here's me inside the ITV Studios:

And this is me being utterly debauched at our hotel after the show:

My beautiful friend Sophie and I before the show started:

We were sat right at the back and I needed to pee the entire time BUT I saw The Wanted in the flesh... Ooh, that Jay. (y'know, the one with the curly hair?) Phwoar! I wanted to roll him into a little ball and put him in my knickers for a bit...

Speaking of undergarments, I have had an utter bollock of a week. Until now I have been far too proud to talk about finances but it’s such a pressing matter in the carer’s community at the moment. (yes, we have a community. We're not as annoying as Jehovah’s Witnesses but we're equally as stubborn) Do you remember me likening the government's treatment of state dependents to being rogered in my previous post? Well I've just had my tiny ass well and truly pillaged... A few days ago I received a letter kindly letting me know that my Carers Allowance will be stopping in January. Apparently, taking care of my mum and sister 24/7 isn’t enough to warrant the giant sum of £55 a week that is ICA. What a load of shite. I wouldn’t mind if I had the time to go out and get a job but, unfortunately, amongst all the arse wiping and general mollycoddling there are many days where I don’t even have time to think about knocking one out over a picture of Stephen Merchant, let alone trying to combine caring and working. 

I saw on Twitter today that Nike have sent over free football boots to that pointless, ugly fucker Wayne Rooney. It makes my blood boil to think that huge corporations financially support thick plonkers like that, yet our own government shits all over people like me - despite us carers saving them £119billion a year. That is not a typo. I’ll spell it out to reiterate: one hundred and nineteen BILLION pounds a year. I’ve never been so insulted in my life (apart from this one time when a random man said I looked like Carol Decker...cheeky fuck) I don’t usually let things get on top of me but it’s hard not to when, in this world, money is essential for survival. Little Katie has severe cyanosis –when your extremities turn blue from even the smallest bit of cold – so in these arctic temperatures our heating is on full blast. We’re actually contemplating selling our telly to pay the gas bill. This is plan B, my first thoughts were to sell my Nan but I don’t know where she lives. Typical. It also has to be the TV because mum won’t let me go out and become a woman of the night. Frankly, I don’t think I’d get much interest anyway but it’s the thought that counts.

I've decided to just come out and be honest about struggling financially as very few people realise that carers are often living in poverty / considering selling relatives etc. Just because I dress like this:

and not like this:

does not mean that I am living in the lap of luxury. Far from it. I'm simply trying to make the best of a bad situation. After all, life can be shit enough without walking around looking like you've stolen Britney's wardrobe and have more STD's than Frankie Cocozza...

Now, does anyone want to buy a telly?!

Love,
Amy x