My tough childhood

Dear Agnes

Although I might now be described as middle-class (I own a period house [3 ‘sitting-rooms’!] in a rural setting (well, except that the countryside is dotted with similar mansions) a BMW and a Lexus – and a run around SUV of course) – there was a time when we had very little indeed.

Growing up in the Barracks we had little food and less fuel – the ice in the winter was on the inside of the windows. We had no bathroom upstairs – we used a chamber pot – and indeed had only an outside toilet. My siblings and I were abused if we opened our mouths to complain.

My problem is that I am married to a lady of well-to-do parents and I never told her of my humble origins.

What should I do now?

B Mused


Dear B

You ARE confused, aren’t you? You cannot make up your mind whether to boast about your present wealth or moan about humble origins.

Why not do both? (as you do so well in your letter!)

It is surprising that you haven’t yet written a bestselling misery memoir of your appalling childhood a la Frank McCourt. Indeed you are well on your way with the second paragraph above!

Get your finger out and start typing.

And please DON’T thank me if it sells!


Agnes Dayee



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