My name is James and I am 4 and I have been living with my 43 year old mum in an hostel for homeless people for 7 months now. We don't actually have anything so-called wrong with us except that we can't afford the private rents anymore and in order to participate in society we need what used to be known as a council house. Trouble is as we all know there aren't too many available so we have to live in one room in a house shared by all sorts of other people. We are a bit on our own as no one else is the same age as me so I get really bored and run after anyone who comes past my door. But we must be grateful we are told. Bring on Dickens I say. Perhaps our heads should be shaved and we are sent to the workhouse too! Mum will write this for me but as we live a common experience for virtually every minute of every day. Oh yes and this is in one of the most affluent boroughs in the UK. I write this because we are treated as the underclass, particularly by those that are supposed to support us because that is what they are paid to do, not because they necessarily want to. They earn out of our predicaments but definately don't try to make it easier. They also keep files on us, mostly based on hearsay and gossip, and rehashed over cigs and coffee in more comfortable surroundings than mine. Because we are to be silent I blog.