Just now I discovered that the directions that I had stuck onto the front door so that people can find OUR door has disappeared. It has not been ripped away – which sometimes happens – but it has carefully been removed while my downstairs neighbours’ notice is still on the door.
So, what may happen next is that Murphy will let the guy in 6E – Murphy unwittingly gave too much away yesterday – state that I am, say, a sex worker and that my clients are causing a lot of problems?
Whatever. As I wrote earlier today, I already got really fed up with the other malicious gossip that has been spread about me behind my back too, ranging from “she is demented / not right in the head and potentially dangerous” to “she’s committing fraud”. So I cannot rule out anything. Time will tell!
It could also be the case that we will get a proper sign and a proper mailbox and that they are using my directions as a template. (Yeah, right.)
Money isn’t everything, but landlords who force their tenants to live in poverty or who force £300 a month electricity costs in winter time on their tenants – if their tenants want to keep their homes normally warm – because the landlords cannot be bothered to consider the position of a tenant are just shooting themselves in the foot.
The practice of using inappropriate materials and blaming the consequences of that on tenants is not one I have a lot of appreciation for either.
So, Mr Murphy et al., before the next rumour about me start circulating, I am not barricading myself in the flat; I am creating the conditions that will eventually enable me to leave the flat and maybe even move to London or some other place where women
like me are allowed to breathe more freely.
I haven’t heard from anyone at Portsmouth City Council in weeks now and am still waiting to receive a copy of a form that they mentioned in one of their e-mails. Not that it is important, as my issue has always been and remains “WHY AM I NOT ALLOWED TO SUPPORT MYSELF IN PORTSMOUTH?” (and more generally “live my life” here). (Did I go through a phase in which I tried too hard to adjust to the local conditions? Undoubtedly. Should not have made a difference.)
Me, I just want my life back. Including making my own living, whether people in Portsmouth like it or not. It’s the 21st century, not the middle ages. Women are allowed to make a living. They do not need to be owned and supervised by men or whatever.
(And no, I am not talking about the pandemic and its lockdowns. I am mostly talking about all the bizarre crap that happened after I moved to Portsmouth at the start of 2009.)
So I am reclaiming my life step by step so that I can also make a living again, goddammit. It’s crazy that, apparently, only men are allowed to make a living in Portsmouth. It’s the 21st century.