Outrageous!

This is outrageous! I ought to be ringing Childline! I talked to Dad and he sees absolutely no problem with what Mum's planning to do! Get this! He said he thought there was actually a need for it and that I should be proud of her and - wait, for it, this is worse - that she was quite right that it was about time I started doing a bit of work around the place to earn some money and not always be expecting things to drop into my lap! Drop into my lap? In this madhouse? It took until Mum got post-natal depression for her to give in and let me have a mobile phone! And I'm convinced that if Dad wasn't a hairdresser, I'd be expected to keep my hair a metre long or have it shaved off to save money! It's not that we're that hard up - but Mum seems to have this band of virtual Third World orphans that inhabit her imagination and continually remind her that we don't really need most of what we've got. And I suppose our family has virtually doubled in size in the last couple of years - and we're having to pay for an au pair too - so I guess a bit of extra cash wouldn't go amiss. But why Mum has to come up with quite such a weird idea to make money, God only knows - probably quite literally - she's always chatting away to him! And why I should be dragged in, is beyond me. You'd think that in my GCSE year, my parents would be keen for me to just get my head down and study - why this sudden urge to get me working? And just how do you explain to your two best friends that you've got a little part-time job at home selling...wait for it...you're just never going to believe this...selling CARDBOARD COFFINS!

Yes, that's it. Mum's brilliant idea is to sell very basic, very reasonably priced cardboard coffins over the Internet. She went to a big exhibition all about DEATH at the NEC in Birmingham - yes, OK, they called it something a bit more sensitive that - The Funeral Resources Show, or something - and off she went. What is she like? Who, in their right mind, packs up their babies and their au pair and takes them to look at urns and coffins all day? And says the babies had a lovely time playing in the plastic gravel! You know the sort of stuff? They scatter it on the tops of graves to make them look nice. Honestly, normal people let their babies play in ball pools, not grave gravel! My baby sisters are going to end up seriously warped!

Anyway, I suppose I should be grateful she's not decided to market grave gravel as the next best thing for babies. Instead she came back ranting about how outrageously over-priced cardboard coffins are and how their ought to be a more basic option available. At first she was thinking we could offer a customising service - coffins in your football colours, for example - but at least Dad had the sense to point out that that would be extremely time-consuming. I saw her eyes flicker in my direction and knew exactly what she was going to say.

'But Kate's quite good at art...'

I was ready for her. 'No,' I said. 'Just no, OK? I could maybe do an hour or so a week, answering queries or something - but decorating flat pack coffins is right out!'

'She's right, Jo,' said Dad. 'You need to start small and simple with this - and if you're trying to provide a budget range, then you don't want to do anything fancy. Kate could help get you going - she knows far more about the Internet than you do - and, as she says, with answering queries or packing the product - but that's all, I think.'

Packing the product? What is this? It sounds far too serious to me! Any moment now and these two'll be trying to get on 'The Dragon's Den'.

Little brother Ben, of course, has been no help whatsoever. He just thinks it's a huge laugh.

'What d'you expect?' he said. 'Mum's over the baby blues now, she doesn't want to increase her 'vicar' hours but she does want to do something extra. You can tell she's been champing at the bit for weeks. Just be glad it's something that might actually earn us some money, for once.'

'Yeh, but she wants me to do some of the earning! How is that fair? I notice she hasn't mentioned it to you!'

'That's because I'm too young,' said Ben, looking smug.

'I'm sure you're not too young to be employed by your family!'

'Yeh, but the point is that they know you're old enough to have a paper-round - and when you're sixteen there'll be loads of other jobs you can do - but you've never shown any interest.'

'Why should I?' I said. 'I want to study for my GCSEs!'

Ben pulled a face. 'Yeah, right,' he said.

'What's that meant to mean?' I said, irritably.

'It means, if you don't want them to nag you to get a job, stop spending so much time doing MSN. They reckon if you've got enough time for that, then you could do a job and "contribute to the family economy"'

'And how do you know that, Smarty-pants?' I growled.

'Heard them talking,' said Ben. 'Actually, I think it's bluff - I think they just want to scare you into doing more schoolwork and less MSN - but I could be wrong.'

'Well, I'm not going to put up with it,' I raged. 'I'm not going to be bullied into earning money when I don't want to.'

'OK, then,' said Ben. 'What are you going to do about it?'

What do you think Kate is going to do? Cast your vote and visit again to see what happens next!

Yes! Kate breaks into Cyberspace!

Yes! I've done it! I've created a blog! Now, at the twitch of a mouse, I can tell the entire world what I have to put up with in this crazy household ! Now, if, as I often fear, I finally go stark raving mad and run amok with a machete, there will be public evidence of what I have gone through. As they attempt to cart me off in a police van, I'll be able to shout, 'Read my blog! Then you'll see! Then you'll understand!' Readers from all over the world will spring to my defence. There will be letter writing campaigns and public demonstrations. 'Free Kate Lofthouse,' they'll cry. 'Never has a poor, innocent girl been so tormented. Free her, we say, free her!'
OK, in my dreams. But at least there's a chance that someone out there will read this and understand what I'm going through. They might even comment - tell me what on earth I should do when I hit the next disaster. The other weekend I did my Bronze Duke of Edinburgh Award expedition. You can guess how it went - sheeting down with rain, blowing a gale, the coldest September on record (oh, OK, I exaggerate but you get the picture). Anyway, the route took us through a field of cattle. I'm not keen on cattle at the best of times - we have a friend who got trampled by cows so they're no joke, I can tell you - but we couldn't see a way round. And then I spotted a bull in the field too. We so did not want to go through that field but we so had to. The others were all whinging and whining, except for my friend Vicky who's game for anything.
'Oh come on,' I said. 'We'll just have to do it.'
I ushered them through the gate and then set off boldly, hoping they'd follow. They didn't so I went back and urged them on like Mum used to when I was little.
'The cows are probably more scared of you than you are of them,' I said, 'and the bull will be happy because he's with all his girlfriends. Now come on, will you?'
I got them across - I didn't have a disaster, if that's what you were expecting. No one fell over, no one got chased by the bull, it was all a big anti-climax really. But when I told Mum, she started saying how brave I was and how she didn't know how I'd done it because she knew I was terrified of cows, blah, blah, blah, etc, etc, etc.
'Look, Mum,' I said, patiently. 'I just knew my friends weren't going to shift if I didn't make them. They have such quiet lives - but I'm used to everything being a crisis.'
And then Mum, the stinker, had the cheek to fall about laughing! What, I ask you, is so funny about that? Huh? She ought to feel ashamed. If I'm used to crises, it's all because of her. In the last couple of years, she's fractured her skull in a bike accident, given birth to twins, adopted mad dog Rover and dabbled with post-natal depression. And before that wasn't much better. You can't have a mum who is a part-time vicar and a dad who runs the best hairdressing salon in town and expect much in the way of home sweet home. It's a miracle if anyone does enough shopping to keep my little brother, Ben, in chocolate biscuits. And it's all made much, much worse by the fact that Mum is forever getting into new things - she's always got some mad project up her sleeve - it's been belly-dancing, abseiling, composting - you name it, she's probably got the T-shirt! That's what's driven me to writing this blog. I've kept a journal for years but this latest idea of hers has got to go public.
She's decided we need to make more money. Dad's salon does brilliantly but if you're a part-time vicar with four kids, you're never going to be a millionaire - so she's decided to look for a business opportunity that she can combine with being a part-time vicar. And guess what she's come up with? No, you'll never guess - not in a million years. It's too awful. I'm going to write it down here as therapy. If I can type it and tell the world, then maybe I'll be able to bring myself to tell other people - like Vicky and more importantly, my best friend in all the world, Chas Peterson. Uh - no - I can't write it down. It is just too sick. It's bad enough being the daughter of a part-time vicar without this! Dad's going to have to stop her, like he did when she wanted to keep a pig in the garden. That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to sign out and go and talk to Dad. Right now!


Got a suggestion for what Kate's mum's business idea might be? If so, VOTE in my poll and / or WRITE a comment!