Sorry son, we’re not on the breadline just yet, but mummy looked in her purse and could only afford milk. I know you want a ham sandwich for your lunch but there’s no ham and no bread. Sorry son.
Sorry son. I know you want a cheese sandwich now, but the same applies. We’ve got no pesto to make you pesto pasta. We’ve got things you won’t eat like tomatoes and celery, but that’s no use. Sorry son.
Sorry son. We’ve only got two eggs, so your lunch is two scrambled eggs and some ketchup. I won’t have lunch so you won’t be able to steal mine. Sorry son.
Sorry son, I think your tea might be a packet of vegetable curry flavoured noodles with some frozen peas. That’s all that’s in the cupboard. Sorry son.
Sorry son, I’ll find some money from somewhere and buy you something nice to eat tomorrow. At least some ham and bread and cheese. Sorry son.
Sorry son for letting you down. For not earning more. It’s not that I don’t love you; I do with all my heart. Love doesn’t put food on the table. It’s a hard lesson I know. Sorry son.
I wrote this post back in 2013. Since then we’ve had financial highs and lows; we’ve had empty cupboards and we’ve scraped together meals out of seemingly nothing. It’s turned me into a hoarder of food. Whenever I have a few extra pounds in my purse I stock up on big bags of dried pasta and tins of chopped tomatoes. I have bags and bags of rice, tins of tuna, lentils and beans.
I always want to be able to feed my family. To have nothing but a small 25p packet of noodles to feed your growing son is a terrible, terrible feeling. I never want to feel that way again.
We’ve recently lost our tax credits since we were moved over to Universal Credit, so right now things are tighter than they have been, and will be for a while. You can only tighten your belt so much. We will be ok, because we have no other option than to be ok.
For more information about food poverty, visit the Trussell Trust website.