My mother got on her bike after my parents got divorced. We moved from a good secondary school in West Yorkshire, with the kids I'd grown up with, to a shit school in Bedford. One that taught almost exactly what I'd been taught the year before. (I have no idea why that happened.)
That school was a 'middle school', so next year saw me in another school and living in Milton Keynes. At this point I stopped bothering to make friends - after all, I expected to end up moving again.
Fast forward to sixth form. I had stayed in the same school long enough to settle down, but mother then got a job on the Scottish border. The school there said there wouldn't be any problem with my transfer, until there was and it was too late to do anything about it.
I spent my upper sixth sitting in Cumbria, in other people's classes, not learning anything and being ignored by teachers. Unsurprisingly, I dropped out and didn't get the unis I'd applied for. The school acted like it was all my fault even though I saw this coming a mile off and felt helpless to stop it.
When grannie had her angina attack, I was lucky to have moved back nearby. My parents were a three hour drive away.
Fuck these people who think it's ok to expect families to uproot for jobs. Economies have to be built for people- not the other way round.
- any typos are my tablet's fault. Touchscreens are harder to type with than I thought.