Dear Daddy, I'm 30 this year... did you know?

I fell into my usual emotional vacuum last week. Wondering where I'm going, what I'm doing. How to move forward. How to be better.
Always measuring my decisions and my self worth by some invisible moral ruler and never quite making the grade.

I found a diary I had when I was 13 years old, I read it cover to cover and it broke my heart. I didn't realise what an unhappy teenager I was until I saw it in black and white; what scared me, was that some of the things I wrote, I could have written yesterday.

I don't think I knew what depression was until a doctor sat me down at University and told me, if I had understood back then, I would have seen that I needed some serious intervention very early on.

I found my old phone, with photos snapped rapidly in a doctors waiting room, I got to hold my entire life's medical records for 15 minutes to approve them to be sent to court, with bundles of papers I had never seen before.

When I was adopted, I thought I would live happily ever after and become part of family where every day was love and appreciation, forever a million miles away from the hideousness that came before.

The sense of loss I felt when I was a teenager was some sort of recognition that I was loosing my family even then. No bond. No salvation. I was always striving to save something that in reality didn't exist.

So I emailed my father my thoughts, as I tend to do, never to receive a reply, but I somehow type and hope regardless.
I wake up with Sarah every morning and know that my heart lies in this house, in this love.
That as time goes by and I sort my shit out, we can build a life together.
Maybe it's time to let go of something I can't bring back to life


"I turn 30 this year.

30.

I've managed to navigate through the financial and emotional saga's of court cases, criminality, addiction and finally, business, and somehow find a way through to the other side.

None of it has been easy.

Most people who go through trials and tribulations do so with the support of their family. I have been blessed to have Sarah's family in my life, and should I have met her sooner, I am sure I could have avoided some of the hideous choices I made.

I seem to write you this sort of email once a year, and it always fails to yield a response; which are you can imagine, from your daughters point of view, grows tiresome.

I have tried to look at all this from your point of view, but am very aware, my perspective will always be tailored to my own hurt, as your must be too.

Sarah's mum often says to me, that there is nothing Sarah could do that would make her stop loving her, that would cause her to break her bond with her daughter, apparently the same applies to me now, and believe me that woman knows the good, the bad and the ugly and still finds the time to make me part of her family.

This Christmas Sarah's family came to us. To a house we have lived in for over 2 years now, a home we have built together. You have never seen it. Despite copious invitations. It's always too far?

They live in Orrell and managed to make the round trip on Christmas Day to be with us.

Even Jay and his lovely lady have been. Why haven't you?

Our relationship is conditional, and I understand that we all live busy lives, but that seems to mean that my only options for seeing you are short windows of opportunity on your terms, and they come and go so quickly that I often miss the chance. Which is of course bizarre, given how much time you spend in Manchester with mummy and Jay.

Sarah's mums secret weapon is quite literally her OAP travel card - you should try it sometime! We are only a metrolink ride away!

I'm aware the negative aspects of my life seep into yours when you want them the least, like lunatic ex employees emailing you, or debts I haven't paid from times gone by, that somehow encroach on your door. For that I apologise, that somehow my shit finds its way back to you - the reason for that is what most people know, and have known for a long time, that if you want to hit me where it hurts, you go for the jugular, you.

I don't want another year of sporadic text messages, that lack substance. When you text me the day after my birthday because you forgot what date it was. You shouldn't forget? It should be engraved on your heart as yours in mine.

Do you not wake in the morning and catch your breath for the loss of me? Your daughter? I was your little girl once in a ridiculous cherry dress, with blonde hair and green eyes and a suitcase of two of baggage!

I lie awake, at night, next to Sarah, and I feel blessed, that I have this life, this love, this security. With the cat that looks like Cosmoe at the end of the bed, sleeping.

I worry. I think of you and Mummy, getting older, and it fills me with fear.

I've written this sentence to you before, but it never changes. I'm scared. I turn 30 in a few months, and you turn 63. We're getting older.

What if I loose you and nothing changed?

That you grow grey and into your grandad ears, become a grandfather, but not to my children. What a sad fate.

I google you both sometimes to see you. Your always in Lancashire life at something or other. Or mummys laytons photo, that has changed 3 times over the past 6 years, its the only way I get to see what she looks like.

I found a little diary amongst the things you gave me at my old flat. It's so sad. 13 years old and I write in the section that reads 

My biggest fears are..... "my biggest fear is loosing someone I love, someone I care about,"

It's like I predicted the future.

Another reads 

The people who are most important in my life.... 

"my mother, we don't get on very well, god I wish we would, but well, we're trying,"

"my father, I just wish he would give me a chance to prove that I can do something with my life,"

"my brother, I love him more than anyone or anything in the world,"

Do you see?

I have yearned for you, for such a long time. When does it stop?

I felt like this when I was 13, and you were right there, every morning, every night, and I still didn't feel like I had you.

It's 2017, you're nowhere to be seen, and it feels exactly the same.

How did that happen?

What are we?

Our relationship is a huge factor of who I am, why I am the way I am, and I don't know if I can hold on much longer, to something that I don't know even exists, or could exist.

If it was so impossible all those years ago, before I had fucked up my life in every way possible, screaming for you to keep saving me, then it really is impossible now.

I want a dad.

I want my dad.

I want to be Daisy-May.

I want to a Barker.

Not the bloody Barker Baker.

Not this facade of overwhelming rehabilitation and success because I'm still doing it for the wrong reasons - to show you I can do something.

I don't have to.

I did do something.

I created something I'm proud of, that brought change to other peoples lives, I lived selflessly for a short time and tried to build my life around it - which when

you are an inherently selfish un-empathetic person is pretty hard to do.

I went on national television twice - for one reason and one reason only - in the hope you would see it, and you would feel proud.

Both of you.

There is still a very sad little girl, inside a struggling nearly 30 year old, wanting a family.

So I either rebuild ours.

Or I start my own.

But I can't a foot in both anymore.

I need your commitment, to be more, to be phone calls, not just texts. To be dinner, not just 10 minute coffee. To care. To want to know me. To want to know Sarah. My life, our life. Like you know Jay's.

Because I do get older, and every day, it takes us further apart.

I miss you.

You're a hole in my heart I can't fill."

Surprising I'm sure to know, no reply.

Holy Water, hot water

I wash my hands in a strange way.
Like a surgeon, like a chef, like someone who needs to be clean.
I run the water so hot, it's almost scolding, with soap, always to much, and I run my hands over and under, fingers interlacing, palms brushed together, wrists together, like they're about to be tied.
Over and under, over and over.
It's obsessive.

I had forgotten that I do it.
And have done for a long time.
The compulsion surfaces during times of sadness and vulnerability
I find myself standing over a sink staring into space. Just washing.
Washing it all away.

I have a memory that grazes through my brain, from such a long time ago, of a mans arms around me, washing my hands with me, I don't know if it was my father, or if it was a foe. I don't remember, all I know it was the action "like this" and it haunts me and somehow travels with me.

It's a strange fibre that moves with me through the years.

I remember the feeling of my thighs burning in the water, as I sat in the bath, until the hot water turned cold, until the transparency turned red. Grazed knees, bloody mouth, black smudges on my cheeks, dirt and desperation under my fingernails. I sat. In disgust. In denial. Hoping the water would just wash it away.

I flinch when she touches certain parts of me, or if I feel certain fibres on my skin.
We walked through a shop a few months ago, and there was a mirror hanging on a sideboard, identical to the one I had to look into that night.
Broken pieces.
It made me feel sick.
A certain shade of carpet and it tricks my body and I swears it can feel the burn, against my knees and my cheek.
The smell of Angel aftershave, makes me want to curl up in a ball and put my hands palm down on the floor.


Anyway! I got out of that bath, got dressed, and went about my life like nothing had happened.
I'm good at that.
And through the weeks and the months that followed, I couldn't stop. I stood in the shower for what felt like days, my hands wrinkled from the water.
When I found out I was pregnant, I felt dirty from the inside out, I couldn't get that thing out of me quick enough, every fibre of my being resented the very presence of that night. I laughed at the hilarity of fate, giving me such a sick reminder. It couldn't just let me walk away, forget it. Oh no, I had to have a repercussion.

The day I found out, I was pissed up and in A and E, not feeling well. I couldn't understand why, I had drunk that much before, why did I feel so bad?
"You're pregnant Miss Barker,"
It's a good job I was lying down when they told me because I couldn't catch my breath.
19. Pregnant. What would my parents think?

I rang my dad.
I asked him to pick me up from the hospital. He didn't even know I was in the area, I had come back up north for a weekend of hardcore drinking, not family guilt and realism.
The whole thing was so inconvenient. He told me so.
It was conditional, for me to stay.
I would go straight to my room and not come out - they were having a family dinner with my brothers new girlfriend.
I would leave first thing and get the train back to Uni, no questions asked.
I agreed.

And so, he picked me up, we sat in silence on the short ride home. I went straight to my room as I had said I would and I spent the whole night, psychotic, alone, and in shock.
Putting different sized pillows up my shirt and staring at myself in the full length mirror in my teenage bedroom. That mirror never was my friend, and now it was showing me a 2 month pregnant horror story.

I went back to Uni, I went straight to the doctors and I asked for an abortion. The doctor asked me why, I told him. It was liberating, to tell another soul why I needed this exorcism as fast as possible.
He agreed, as long as I promised to attend counselling, I would have said yes to anything at that point.

So from the dirty deed in October, to the abortion in the 3rd week of December 2006, I washed.
Long hot showers, sporadic lectures and seminars, drinks with friends, promiscuous behaviour, more hot showers.
Anything to distract me from the feeling of filth.
I was dirty.
I have always been.

It's that feeling that made prostitution such an easy option for me, it was an absolute acceptance that I would be good at it, because it was at my core, dirty soul and dirty mind, I might as well seize the power and the money and make it part of me.
So I did.
And I was good at it.
Because there are two things I excel at in this life - sex and lies.
It's not as glamorous as it sounds, but it does allow the escapism for all involved to be whoever they want to be.

Of course, that all comes unstuck when you actually fall in love.
How do you give yourself to another person when you actually care about who they are and how you make them feel.
How do you let love take you?
Sometimes she whispers how much she loves me, how beautiful I am, and I hate to hear it, because I don't believe it.
And I get scared.
I want to give her all of me, not just a projection of what I think she wants.

She noticed the hand washing obsession, she asked me about it, and I told her the truth.
Its rare but it does happen.

She knows about the night when I was 19, shes had to pick up the pieces 10 years on.

She knows I'm the hooker, the fucker, the druggie and the whore.
She still says I love you, and it confuses my mind.

ITV had a camera pointed in my face a few months ago, and they asked me a question that made me cry.
And those of you who know me, it takes something profound for that to happen.
"How does it make you feel, to know Sarah loves you, despite knowing all of it?"

Dirty.
Still so dirty.
I find it hard to let go.

Yesterday I read yet more vicious spouting from someone insignificant, but that maintains a hold on my emotion because she knows my sore spots.

And it made me feel so defeated.
And then it made me laugh.
Always so inaccurate that girl.
Train station? Oh no my love, I've never been that kind of girl, oh once upon a time you could find me in a locked warehouse giving it away for £35 a go, with 50% going to the man in charge.
But then there are times you could find me in my 5* serviced apartment, making £300 an hour to make a man believe I was his. Paid in cash and cocaine and shiny, pretty things. It was quite a life. And I wouldn't change it, despite its imprints on my mind.
We don't all give it away for free.

Alas, a small victory from a small mind, it hurt. Because it struck my lowest chord.

That the world sees me as I see myself, tainted.

And then it occurred to me, tainted and dirty and filthy at the core I may be, but I read those messages and those little comments and I held the hand of a girl who loves me more than she loves herself, the stupid thing.
She held my hand and said "Don't you dare cry,"
And I said "I'm sorry," that is embarassing for her to always have to defend and pretend shes OK with who I am and the choices I've made.
And once again, she rescues my broken mind and says as she looks into my eyes "I'm not embarassed by you, I'm not ashamed of you, I love you,"

So I suppose our water bill is probably higher than it should be, and I'll carry on washing away my sins, over and under for a long time to come, but that doesn't mean it all has to be undone.
One day I will wash my hands, and I will look up in the mirror that hangs over our sink, and I'll be OK with the person who is looking back.
One day.

Tell me your value

Tell me your value,

How much are you worth?
Does the price change,

At your best,

At your worst?

How much am I paying you?

For a minute of your time?

Will you make me happy?

For seconds, minutes, moments,

Will you be mine?

Tell me please,

Whilst your down on your knees,

What's your purpose?

Why are you here?

Do you like to feel so worthless?

And if so why?

What made you like this?

No hopes and no dreams,

Just pound notes,

Shoved into the waistband of your jeans.

Such sadness in such pretty eyes,

Lines of shame and pain,

Etched along the inside of her thighs.

She tracks them like a timeline,

Scars, scars, lies, lies.

She had a pretty pair of jeans once,

She felt of so pretty wearing that light denim,

That tight denim,

And then there was him.

Ripped those jeans right off.

Cut those pretty knees right open,

Wiped herself down and shook that bloody night away,

Stood in front of a broken mirror

And didn't like what she saw.

Because that story,

Gets old,

The more it gets told.

Silly little girl,

Silly little whore.

Don't you think you're worth a little more?

It doesn't have to be money,

It doesn't have to be your lying on the floor.

It can be better.

It can.

For those seconds, minutes, moments.

Somehow.

She wiped the make up from her face,

Cleaned off the blood,

There you go pretty girl.

You're all good.

Always running.

Always hiding.

Always a head in the sand.

Thats what makes it so hard to stand.

How can you stand tall?

How can you ever feel proud?

Feel clean,

Feel safe,

Feel good,

Because thats nothing you've ever been,

Always on those god dam knees.

What she would give for a line of cocaine,

Some distorted notion it would take away the pain,

It wouldn't,

It would wind up just the same.

Just as insane.

It seems easier to let it fall,

Watch the pieces hit the ground,

See whats what,

If theres anything left to save.

But not her.

Never her.

Scared to let anyone see you,

When you have nothing left to give,

Just you,

Naked, pure, raw,

What good are you now?

With no bank balance,

No glory,

You're nothing now.

What value do you hold?

If only good intentions and hopeful hearts were worth their weight in gold.

Fire and Ice

Do you know what drives me in my life?
The one motivation which has pushed me forward time and time again, that drives me from the darkness into the light?

Proving people wrong.

It's not the most honourable of motivation but it's who I am.

Tell me I'm worthless - I will show you what I'm worth. It's 100 of you.
Tell me I'm a liar - and slowly but surely I'll blind you with the truth.
Tell me I'm finished - I'll show you the marathon, not the sprint.
Tell me I'm nothing - I'll be everything you wished you were and more.

I have made so many wrong decisions lately, all stemming from this incessant need to please, to be great, to achieve things bigger and better than anyone thought possible of me.

SUCH STUPIDITY.

When you are born, unwanted.
When you live, unloved.
It's hard not to see yourself as something or someone who MUST prove their value.
Because if you don't have value, you don't have worth, if you don't have worth, your dispensable.

I learnt this at a young age, my value was as a play thing.
I have always operated on the basis of being needed, being useful, being necessary.
Because if you are all of those things, the likelihood of you being tossed aside and thrown away becomes less likely.

Through my teenage years, my parents would laugh and poke fun at my ability to buy people, always compared me to my brother, who had a vast group of friends based on something quite different, based on something he offered other people - himself. Just as he was. It was enough. He exudes a self confidence that is very "take me or leave me, hate me or love me, I don't care"
That's the difference between us, I do care. I have always cared.

I live in constant fear of what people think of me.
Always have.
Whether its my parents, my teachers, my friends, my lovers.
I worry. Constantly.
Which is why I live my life like some sort of iguana, forever changing my personality, it is no wonder that at the age of 29 I still do not know who I am. Which version.

What I do know is how and why, I am who I am.
The good, the bad and the ugly.
What I do know is that all of it revolves around one very sad, self-pitying fact and desire, to be loved.

My beautiful, still very new to me sister said something quite startling to me when I was with her a few weeks ago.
"Stop finding your self worth in other people,"

How do you do that?
If you don't feel you have any worth, and the only way you have ever felt flickers of it is when you see it reflected in someone elses opinion of you, then it's an impossible habit to break.

I am inherently selfish.
I put myself first in most situations, I live entirely on instinct, be it not a very good one, its mostly self-preservation.
And yet at the same time, I put myself in the most ridiculous of vulnerable situations.
I give every fibre of my being and every inch of my life in some bizarre hope of helping people, being good for people, being kind for people.

Sarah tells me this too is selfish in essence, I compare it to the episode of Friends where Pheobe spends an entire day trying to do one selfless deed, a deed that can only be truly selfless is you don't even feel good about it, if it brings no positives to your life, only the person or situation.

I see it more as cleansing of the soul.
The only way to remember I am a good person at heart.
That if I can help someone, somehow, in some small way, it gives strength to my integrity as a decent human being.
Because, when you are the druggie, the hooker, the compulsive liar, the convict, the cunt, the cheat, the girl who had two sets of parents and neither stuck, well; its pretty hard to feel good about yourself, let alone try to get a balanced view of who you are.

I have never cried so much in my entire life than I have done in the past few weeks, I have felt like my entire world has been ripped from me.
But this week, I opened my eyes and realised thats just not true.
I am control of my life.
This life that I built.

I woke up.
Sarah was sleeping next to me.
Gordon was snoring.
The house was warm.
The coffee was on.

She went to work, I got to work.
And we somehow started again.

When someone tries to steal your essence, degrade who you are and all that you've done. Well, in me, its brings out anger, hatred, resentment, all such ugly qualities.
I've sat, spinning out of control, hating and hurting. What wasted emotion. What a waste of time.

All time I could have spent putting positive things in place, not safeguarding and protecting, just hard work and business as usual.

It's fire and ice.

I'm the fire, the shit storm is the ice.

I'll burn bright, and you my friend will just be cold.

As my friends and family and support sit and stoke my fire, we all stay warm, together.
You, well you will be left outside, in the cold. Showing the world you true colours and the ugliness inside.

You see the difference between you and I is that despite it all, the different versions of Fran, I know, deep down, who I am.

It's kindness and dreams, wrapped up in all the wrong approaches, but its pure, with delusionally honest intentions.
When people get hurt in my wake, it's accidental, because I'm too stupid to see what I've done.
But you, toxicity and poison, spread like a disease.
You know what you are doing. You always have.
I never claimed to be good, but you, just plain bad.

So come at me December, January, February, March.
Bring on the medication, bring on the CBT, DBT, the psychs, the hurt.
I'll take it all on, and I'll feel so much better for it.
Whats broken inside me, it's a demon, and I can't snuff it out, but I can try to cure it, it won't be there forever.

I'm going to bake and bake, until I feel better.
Until the money rolls back in.

You can't beat me.

Only hard work will win.
And that my friend, is something I LIVE FOR.

Thank you to my friends, for holding me together, for never loosing faith in me and constantly spurring me on.
In particularly Deenie, you lunatic. You've loved me for 18 years.
God only knows why.
But forever you make me feel, like me. Whatever that is.
Dance to Lion King with me forever <3

To my Sarah, who's heart is sore, but still manages to love me. Fruit cake.
For holding my hand when you'd rather use yours to slap me.
Just you. Truly.

To my somewhat incredible and insightful big sister, I don't know who you are or what you've done with Donna, but you have given me the best advice.
I will eventually listen.
I like to do things ass backwards and take the long way round, but I get there.
I promise I'm not Bridie part two.

Thrifty Foodie

The meal plan

23/09/16 – 10/10/16

 The receipt - £85.31

So, as you can see – we spent £85.31 on our shopping bill. Minus household items like cleaning products, cat foods etc, car maintenance totalling £15.25.

Our actual “food shop” was therefore £70.60.

This includes 10 breakfast options, 12 lunch options, 8 snacks options and 20 dinner options (with leftovers doubling as lunch options)

All of the meats and dairy purchased are organic / free range / higher welfare.

The purpose of this document is to show how eating healthy, enjoying food and cooking with a plan, makes budgeting for a couple very doable.

Sarah and I split our bills 50/50, meaning that this 3 week shop cost us £42.50 each, which equates to around £3 each per day.

£3 each per day allows us a breakfast, lunch and dinner, with snacks and the ability to feed the cat and keep the house clean.

So whether employed of unemployed, a varied diet and easy to follow home cooked food is absolutely do-able.

The average weekly payment of job seekers allowance in the U.K. for people of my age is £73.10.

With gas and electric at £10 each per week (£20.00) public transport weekly pass for potential job seeking £10.00 - £12.00, assuming housing benefit and council tax benefit  is in place to pay for accommodation, £3 a day is a reasonable budget for food / meal planning £21.00 per week.

£20.00 bills

£10.00 – 12.00 transport

£21.00 food

£22.10 leftover

Breakfast recipe

When your loaf of bread is nearing its end and looking a little sorry for itself, bring it back to life with a tasty breakfast treat.

French Toast – serves 1

2 slices of bread (£0.03)

1 egg  (£0.13)

15ml milk  (£0.02)

Mix the egg with the milk and drop the slices of bread into the mixture, soaked up all the moisture, pan fry in a lightly buttered frying pan on a medium heat until golden.

Dinner Recipes

Posh Fish Cakes – makes 4 (serves 4 as a starter, 2 as a main)

1 white frozen white fish fillet (£0.33)

5 frozen mash pellets / 1 serving (£0.14) OR 1 tin of new potatoes (£0.15)

1 spring onion (£0.07)

2-3 stalks of coriander (homegrown, taken from herb box)

1 fresh chilli (homegrown, taken from herb box)

For the coating

1 egg (£0.13)

50g breadcrumbs (homemade, using stale bread, blended)          

£0.67 total cost

 Defrost fish and potatoes.

Flake fish and season with salt and pepper. Chop spring onions, chilli & coriander. Mix all the above into the mash potato.

Shape into patties.

Beat the egg in a small bowl, in a separate bowl have your breadcrumbs.

Dip your patties one by one, first into egg, then into your breadcrumbs.

Fry in a lightly oiled pan until crisp and golden.

Serve with side salad of lettuce and cucumber.

Swedish Janssen – serves 2

1 tin of new potatoes (£0.15)

1 tin of anchovies (£0.70)

100 ml of milk (£0.15)

50 ml of hot water

50 ml of crème fraiche (£0.15)

1 white onion (£0.06)

2-3 stalks of parsley (homegrown, taken from herb box)

£1.21

Slice onion nice and thin, sauté in a little butter until soft.

Season with salt and pepper.

Add potatoes.

Chop up anchovies and add to pan, mixing together potatoes, onions and anchovies.

Pour over 100ml of milk and 50 ml of hot water.

Simmer for 30 minutes on a low heat.

Take off heat, add crème fraiche and serve topped with chopped parsley.

Breakfast

Toast & butter, waffles & syrup, porridge, cereal, yogurt & fresh berries, bacon sandwiches, poached eggs on toast, French toast, crumpets.

Lunch

Hummus & pita, cucumber & cheese sandwiches, cheese sandwiches, cheese & oatcakes, tuna sandwiches, egg mayonnaise sandwiches, tuna salad, salmon salad.

Snacks

Cheese triangles, malt loaf, crumpets, fruit, yoghurts, biscuits, chocolate bars.

Dinners

Spinach & potato curry, chickpea & potato curry, Thai green chicken curry, fried chicken & chips, butternut squash soup, crispy chilli beef, beef stew, salmon, potato & broccoli parcels, salmon & broccoli pasta, Thai salmon noodle salad, white fish cakes & salad, white fish bianco, spring green & bacon soup, Swedish janssen, spaghetti bolognese.

In 2014 I was in Closer Magazine, talking about Food Budgeting

Back when I was on probation, working every hour god sent at the University to try and keep my head above water, food budgeting was the pinnacle of keeping on the straight and narrow.

It’s now 2016, and I am blessed to be in a more stable environment, but the ethos is the same, make the most of what you’ve got, treat yourself here and there, but keep the essentials… essential.

Here is my menu plan and costings from 2014 :-

	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
Breakfast	Cereal and Milk	Fresh fruit and Yogurt	Porridge	Granola and Yogurt	Toast and Jam	Eggs on toast	Pancakes with syrup
Lunch	Chicken Soup	Sandwiches	Omelette	Mixed salad	Sandwiches
Dinner	Beef brisket style with sweet potato wedges	Tomato soup with soda bread	Vegetable thai curry with rice	Chicken burgers with baked beans	Mutton Tagine with Bulgur wheat	Cauliflower soup with bread	Roast chicken with potatoes and carrots

Fresh Shopping List                                                                                            Cupboard Essentials already in

Milk (4pt Skimmed Milk, Asda £1.00)                                                           Rice (1kg, Asda £0.40)

Natural Yogurt (500g, Asda £0.40)                                                                  Flour (1.5kg, Asda £0.40)

Free Range Eggs (6, Asda £1.00)                                                                     Yeast (125g, Asda £0.65)

Cheese (200g, Asda £1.00)                                                                                                Salt (750g, Asda £0.29)

Strawberries (500g, Appna Supermarket £1.00)                                          Bulgur Wheat (1kg, Venus £0.89)

Bananas (4, Appna Supermarket £0.97)                                                         Onions (2kg, Appna £1.00)

Tomatoes (840g, Appna Supermarket £1.67)                                                               Garlic (1 bulb, Venus £0.20)

Sweetcorn Cob (1, Appna Supermarket £0.49)                                             Cumin (100g, Venus £0.75)

Fresh Peas (45g, Appna Supermarket £0.16)                                                                Chilli Powder (100g, Venus £0.75)

Red Chilli (1, Appna Supermarket £0.06)                                                      Golden Syrup (680g, Asda £1.29)

Sweet potatoes (440g, Appna Supermarket £1.63)                                      Mixed Nuts (200g, Asda £0.56)

Chicken breast mince (500g, Appna Supermarket £1.86)                          Stock Cubes (120g, Asda £0.40)

Mutton Ribs (1kg, Appna Supermarket £1.89)                                             Tinned tomatoes (400g, Asda £0.31)

Total £13.13                                                                                                       Coconut Milk (400ml, Appna £0.49)

                                                                                                                                Butter beans (400g, Appna £0.49)

The Garden Box                                                                                                   Tomato Ketchup (550g, Asda £0.36)

Thyme, Parsley, Basil, Rosemary, Chives, Rocket, Chilli’s                       Potatoes (1kg, Asda £0.69)

                                                                                                                                CocoPops (800g, Poundland £1.00)

                                                                                                                                Brown Sugar (500g, Asda £1.00)

Menu Plan

Monday:-

Chicken Soup

Ingredients

½ chicken portion from previous weeks shop (£1.25)

2 carrots from previous weeks shop (£0.16)

½ a leek from previous weeks shop (£0.18)

1 onion from the ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.03)

2 cloves of garlic from the ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.02)

1 stock cube from the ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.05)

A selection of herbs from ‘The Garden Box’

Method

Place your half chicken into a large saucepan, cover in cold water and bring to the boil. Once at boiling point, skim any foam from the surface of the pan and drop your chopped vegetables and herbs into the pan with a stock cube and leave to develop for an hour or so; on a medium heat. Keep an eye on it ensuring you press a paper kitchen towel to the surface every so often to remove any skin forming. Remove your chicken, allowing to cool until safe to handle, then shred into lovely pieces and pop back into the saucepan. Bring the soup back up to the boil, and you are good to go!

Beef “Brisket Style” with homemade rolls and sweet potato wedges

Ingredients

Leftovers from yesterday’s roast dinner approx. 300g cooked beef (£1.90)

1 onion from the ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.03)

2 cloves of garlic from the ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.02)

1 tbs tomato ketchup from the ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.02)

1 tbs sugar from the ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.01)

1 large sweet potato (£0.59)

1 stock cube from ‘Cupboard essentials’ (£0.05)

A selection of herbs from ‘The Garden Box’

Method

In a saucepan, sauté the onion and garlic, adding the tomato ketchup, herbs and loosen with chicken stock liquid, once at the boil and of a “gloopy” consistency, add the beef to the roasting tin, cover in foil and cook in a hot oven for 2-3 hours. For the potato wedges, cut into wedges, toss in olive oil, salt and herbs, bake in the oven for 20-30 minutes around 220c until crisp and golden.

Prepare for the week with some essentials and some treats:-

White Tin Loaf

Ingredients

300g plain flour (£0.08)

1 tsp of yeast (£0.04)

1 tsp of salt (£0.01)

150ml of luke warm water

Makes a loaf for 2 people

Soda Bread

Ingredients

300g plain flour (£0.08)

150g plain yoghurt (£0.12)

50g milk (£0.08)

1 tsp of bicarbonate of soda (£0.04)

1 tsp of salt (£0.01)

Water to loosen if needed

Makes a loaf for 2 people

Breakfast Bars

Ingredients

50g mixed fruit and nuts (£0.14)

150g porridge oats (£0.10)

50g brown sugar (£0.10)

50g butter (£0.20)

100g golden syrup (£0.25)

Melt peanut butter and drizzle over for something special

Makes 15 bars

Making the most of what you’ve got

A lot of our meals are making the most of ‘wastage’

The leftover meat from our Sunday lunch, is the base of our Monday night dinner.

The ½ roast chicken is the leftover meat from last week’s homemade chicken stock, creating a base for a variety of meals. We keep our homemade chicken stock in the fridge for 2 weeks and use it for soups, sauces and risottos.

Bringing together a few cupboard basics, we can make tasty treats like breakfast bars, saving money on cereals and milks every week, they make a nice change, and help curb the temptation of buying supermarket snacks throughout the day. They are healthy, cheap to make, and easy to store.

Baking bread is the most versatile kitchen trick. With an average home baked 300g loaf costing as little as 16p, it can be used in a variety of ways, here are a few to think about :-

1.       Good old fashioned toast for breakfast

2.       Sandwiches for lunch

3.       Blitzed into breadcrumbs and used to make healthy chicken nuggets/burgers/kievs/schnitzels

4.       Sliced and baked into croutons to add to soups and salads

5.       French toast – sliced bread dipped in eggs, milk and sugar, a real treat

6.       Bread and butter pudding – using your loaf and making a tasty pud!

7.       Summer Pudding – fully loaded with summer fruits, my mums favourite!

Another great way to make the most of what you’ve got is to preserve it – literally.

Using up fruits and vegetables in jams and chutneys is a great way to keep them at their best. Easy to make and have great shelf life tucked away in the fridge.

Foraging – not always the easiest thing to do for the city dweller, but last September I picked hundreds of blackberries which I turned into a variety of things – jam, chutney, and most exciting of all, turned into blackberry vodka in pretty jam jars as Christmas gifts.

In 2016, I can add a bit more to the foraging concept

Nettle soup – what a triumph.

Get your gloves on and go out and pick a big bag of nettles. Stay safe, don’t get yourself stung, pick high up, and wash thoroughly.

500g nettles (free/forage)

1 tin of new potatoes (£0.15)

1 white onion (£0.06)

1 vegetable stock cube (£0.05)

300ml water

50ml of crème fraiche (£0.15)

£0.41

Wash nettles thoroughly.

Slice onion and potatoes thinly, fry in a lightly oiled pan until softened.

Add water and stock cube, simmer for 10 minutes on a medium heat.

Add washed nettles to pan and simmer on a high heat for a further 5 minutes, until wilted and cooked.

Blend with hand blender.

Add crème fraiche and stir in.

Even a posh risotto made from foraged sorrell!

Little cherry dress

She loved me once.
My mother.
She did.
She fell so in love with me, as I did her. The day we met. I'll never forget it. She can let me go, she can loose touch and watch me fade away, but for me, forever, she will be Christine Barker, my mother, who's heart I broke. But the only woman to truly break mine.

I don't think I know what love is, not really. It's always been masquerading as need, as acting out of fear of loneliness, to not be wandering in the dark, all alone.
I worry, I don't have it in me, to understand feelings, to understand other peoples hearts. My lack of empathy throughout my life has inhibited the need and purpose of saying "I'm sorry," - it's always a mechanism. It's what people say when they see tears, when they see hurt, they say sorry.
I've said sorry so many times in my life, I thought it had lost meaning; the fact of the matter is, it never had any in the first place. I never understood why people got upset by the things that I did, the things that I said. I always thought it was their weakness and vulnerability of emotion that allowed me to be so destructive.

Why are you crying? I would sit and think.
It's not the end of the world? Is it?
Do you really know what pain is? Because this is temporary and you get it for a moment of two.
Selfish being, oh silly silly you.
Push push push, and I destroy whoever was first in line.

So I suppose in that we are similar, because I have never seen her cry.
I don't know if she does.
Does she sit at home and see a bedroom I once occupied and cry? The loss of her daughter, her one true love, once upon a time.
Because I sit, surrounded by memories and keep sakes I salvaged.
Daisy duck sits pride of place on my 29 year old me grown up bed.
A small piece of my heart. She has chocolate on her ear, because I was always a greedy kid.
I dare not wash her, because she would loose that memory, that piece of me.

There's the box of stuff my dad dropped off, a mish-mash of the life I had before.
It's me.

There are 60 wine labels rattling around the bottom, I collected them year after year. You guys drink too much!
There are keyrings, from school years, badges, beer mats. I collect like a magpie. I still do.
I attach meaning to strange things. Sarah and I have a collection of receipts, acorns, leaves, obscure nik-naks.

I search through the boxes he gave me, there are photos of us 4, smiling at the camera, theres cake. No surprise there.

Does she love me? Like I love her.
People fall out of love all the time, they switch from love to hate.
Maybe thats what we are now. Enemies of this sorry state.

On Sunday, just gone, I met a woman who knew me, when my story began.
She knew me as the cute, blonde, cockney twanged, little Fran.

I asked her if she thought I was broken, even back then.
She said, no, despite all the horror, I was a kind and loving girl.
With my brother as my soul mate, I was Fran, Jay's little mother hen.

And then she said something that made me laugh out loud.
You are the little girl who was always "fine"
You would fall down, hurt yourself and then get straight back up, hide your pain, and I'd ask you,
Fran Fran come here sweetheart are you ok? And you'd rub yourself down and say "I'm fine," "I'm fine," and be on your way.

Then a beautiful man who cared for me so well back then, Jed, he said something I'm half tempted to get as a tattoo

"You are the little girl who always had tears behind her eyes, but would never ever let them fall,"

This is a man who knew me when I was 3.
Just 3. A little, little girl.
So broken. So lost. Looking for a new mummy and daddy and a bright new world.

And off we rode into the sunset, little brother and me.
To Cheshire, to happiness, to the big house, the mum and dad and the world at our feet.

I lost them.
They lost me.
And my heart breaks wondering why.

Nothing is unforgivable.
Nothing that can't be undone with the right foot forward, an apology and actions that speak louder than words.

I asked my foster carer if she thought my mum loved me.
She said yes, that she was head of heels at the thought of a little girl.
She was scared to be a mother, she was scared it wouldn't work.
Maybe she knew back then, we'd clash, smash and break each other apart.
She'd break mine, and I'd break her heart.

She gave me a photo, of me, in a little cherry dress, with a silly white hat, the epitomy of what a little girl should be, if you had to pick one from a crowd.
That was me. Perfectly blonde, loud, happy go lucky.

That's the dress, the one that made her fall in love.
I asked her if she would be mine, asked her if she wanted to be my mummy.
That is the only tear I have seen, in this long long 29 years.
Just one, a happy one, as she said yes.

Just a little girl, but I'll never forget.
We loved eachother once. A long time ago.

But we clashed, from day one. It's a strange thing.
I was moderately threatening, with my territorial love of the only love in my life, Jay, he was mine, and I was his, until the end of time. If he would fall, he would come running - to me.
The only word he would speak was my name, Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn, screamed at the top of his lungs and then just a little giggle, wanting nothing but a look.

The first time he ran to her, it broke my heart, I didn't understand why, or how.
She tells the story, about how I was a little devil, and that it was then she knew I would be trouble.
As she comforted my brother, I bit her. Right on the boob.
She never forgot it. She never let me forget either.

It's 2016, and even I can see why.
She never understood me, or why I did what I did, or was who I was. She never tried to.
We never talked, we never hugged, I've never said I love you, and nor has she.
Is that what parents and daughters do? Because it's lost on me.

Why am I mourning the loss of a woman I never had?
And if I got her back, what would that even mean?
So we could go on and exchange cordialities, and menial conversations, about work, weather and nothing more.

I think I'm the girl in the little cherry dress, waiting for a mummy, full of hope and heart, and it just doesn't come.

Did she get more than she bargained for? Was she right to keep me at arms length? Because I can wallow in self pity and blame it all on her and not me, but I know who I am, I know what I did, I know I was wrong, but I know that love is deeper than any of that. That there's no lie to great, no hurtful word too strong, to say forgive me, I love you, I don't want this anymore.

Driving to meet my foster parents, I spoke with Sarah in the car and I asked if she remembered how my mum looked at me at my grandmas funeral, she said its something she would never forget and it occurred to me, I do not remember a moment in the past 10 years where my mum has looked at me any other way.
She looks at me with disappointment, frustration, resentment, that she wasted her life on something so pointless.
She looks right through me, like I'm a stranger, like a homeless person she passes so easily on the street.
And I sat there, in the car, zooming down the motorway, racking my brains, trying desperately a time where my mother had looked at me with love, with pride, with hope, as a mother does.
And I sat, and sat, and the memories did not come to me.
Because they don't exist.

Why would you work so hard to have children?
Why would you search out the right ones for you?
Go through the processes to become parents?
Only to give up half way through?

Yeah, I cost them a shit load of money, with private schools and holidays and I never ever went without, I was so fortunate, I was blessed, but I would give all of it back.
Every fucking handbag, every ponsey dress, every skiing holiday, all of it.
I hate that thats all I have to remember them by, memories of bullshit.
Holidays with people who wont even say my name, with friends who were supposed to love me just the same.
There are people I've grown up with, who won't even look me in the fact. Who ignore my very existence and go with the mainstream view - that it's me, the destroyer, who brought a world of pain, of shame, fire burning down on my perfect family.

Well they are now.
Just those 3.
My mum made that pretty clear when she introduced her son to strangers, stood right next to me.
She doesn't have a daughter, someone once said to me.
"Christine Barker? I didn't even know she had a daughter,"
It cut me like a knife.

I once sat in the hairdressers chair and a neighbour who had known me since I was 8 years old sat in the chair next to me, she asked how I was, because I wasn't listed on the Barker christmas card anymore.
Erased.
No photos.
No christmas card name signed from Christine, Kevin, Francesca and James.
Now its just three names.

I suppose thats how it should be, after all this time.
She got the family she always wanted.
A husband and a baby.
I've lost count of the times shes told me it was buy one get one free.
That the adoption people wouldn't split us up, but hey everyone needs a consolation prize.

I feel the rage rising, the resentment and the pain. And if she ever read this blog, she would laugh out loud, at my wallow and say "my god you haven't changed"

And I suppose shes right in a way.

Sunday showed me one thing - that if I could go back in time and understand what love is, it's all I would have wanted in the world.
The hugs, that talks, the "how was your day"
The "whos the new boyfriend, girlfriend"
The sex talk, the girl talk, I didn't even know what a period was.
I don't want the best friend mum thing, that kind of creeps me out, but I want a woman who knows me, and loves me no matter what.

Because actually, despite the shit storms, I someone to proud of.
I'm someone to say "she's my daughter" with a smile on her face.

I know that when the time comes and Sarah and I have the chance, no child on this earth will be more loved and adored.

She did what she thought was best, there is no doubt about that.
And I'm not shaming her for giving up on me, I'm just highlighting that I never would.