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enough on our plates at the moment with two cats and those chickens. Anyway, what do we know about horses? You probably have to have a special licence or something or . . . a stable manager. Yes, we’d need a stable manager and that would mean a wage to pay as well as food for horses. So – no, good idea but I don’t think it’s practical. We can’t afford to pay someone.’
    ‘What about a dog then? I’ve always wanted a dog.’
    Mum sighed her weary sigh and gave me a
look
– the one that says ‘Don’t push your luck, matey’.
    So that was that. Water poured on my bright idea. Story of my life. I have mind-bogglingly brilliant ideas and people find a reason to either a) laugh (as in my turn the stables into a leisure park idea) or b) find reasons to dismiss them as unpractical.
    One day I will show the world that my ideas are genius ones and then they will all be sorry for not taking me more seriously. Oh yes.

Chapter Four
    Trump Town Blues
    In the afternoon, I was given time off from all the slavery for good behaviour and headed off to meet Caitlin at the end of our lane. It was a cold bright day and we decided to catch the bus and see where all the other people our age hung out at weekends.
    ‘I was talking to Marie Peters in Year Eight,’ said Caitlin, ‘and she told me the beach is where
everyone
goes. There’s probably a café there and surfers’ club and maybe even volleyball we could join in with. Should be good.’
    I had my doubts about the beach because it was still February, but Caitlin was so keen to go, and I didn’t want to be lame. Plus it might be cool to meet some new friends.
    ‘So the plan is Mission Meet the Locals,’ said Caitlin, ‘find out where the hotspots are.’
    I saluted. ‘All aboard, Captain. You lead, I will follow’
    Caitlin saluted back. Luckily we didn’t have long to wait for a bus and the journey to the coast only took about twenty minutes.
    The sky was starting to cloud over, but I kept my mouth zipped. There might be a café. We could get hot chocolates and check out the scene for better days.
    We gazed out the window, chatting and taking in the passing scenery, and saw that there were some stunning-looking houses only a short distance from the village. They looked like they were owned by multi-squillionnaires, with terraced lawns and huge patios. Some had swimming pools and one even had a tennis court.
    ‘My future home,’ said Caitlin, as we passed a Tudor-style detached house within acres of garden. A teenage girl and an older man, both on horses, waited in a side lane until the bus went past. ‘Look, Amy – that girl goes to our school. She must live in one of those mega houses.’
    The girl glanced at the bus then looked away.
    ‘She’s one of the snooty girls,’ I said. ‘She’s in—’
    ‘I wish I lived in a fantabulous house like that with loads of dosh,’ Caitlin interrupted. ‘Mum keeps telling me that we don’t have any until Dad gets his business up and running. Might take ages though. First he has to wait for his veg to grow and then he has to “find an outlet for his produce”.’
    “My mum just wants to get a job, any job,’ I said. ‘She’s tried a few places but no joy. Her and Dad argue a lot about money. I had a brilliant scheme to rent out the stables, but as with all my ideas, she totally shut it down.’
    ‘She might be right. A lot of people with horses have their own stables. But maybe you could use them for something else. And if things don’t work out, we could all go and live in there, free from the boring grown-ups. We could be like the baby Jesus and Mary and Joseph.’
    ‘Except ours would be a Nativity scene with two grumpy cats and loads of chickens.’
    ‘That’s OK. We could dress up in the parts and charge people to come and look. I could be Mary and Josh could be Joseph, Ginger could be Jesus and Cola could be a camel.’
    ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘All you need is some imagination.’ I was pleased to