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!