Well, what is there to say … I live with my Mum and my brother (well, sometimes) in a high-rise. We’ve got a dog called Plasty, a Bull Terrier, seven years old. He’s great, really well-trained. My dad left us when me and my brother were still young, and I don’t really remember him. Since then I haven’t seen him, which is fine by me, because by all accounts he just boozes the whole time. But it does piss me off that he doesn’t pay anything to Mum for our upkeep. Mum works in a supermarket, so we’re not exactly rolling in it… My brother’s seventeen, he hangs out with a good crowd … apparently they’re skinheads, he doesn’t come home much. Sometimes he takes me to some event or other, but that’s all...   You want me to say something about myself … Uh, where shall I start? I’m 48 and divorced. I’ve got two kids, Pete and Pavla. Pete’s 17 though, he doesn’t spend much time at home. I work in a supermarket behind the till. The work’s no great shakes, but I have to keep the family going – Fanda, my ex, pays me nothing, but I’m just glad he doesn’t live with us any more. It was horrible – he lost his job and started drinking, and things just went from bad to worse. He would have drunk us out of house and home, several times he got his hands on my maternity benefit and I had to borrow money wherever I could … he was rotten to Pavla, and ended up hitting Pete. He’d already beaten me, but I thought I could deal with it, it goes on all the time doesn’t it? But when he hit Pete, I suddenly realised it wasn’t going to get any better. I applied for a divorce and he had to shift his arse out of the flat …