Pixel Prestige
Thank you, KSI… I SPENT MY DAYS MAKING OTHER PEOPLE’S CHILDREN SMILE. THEN I’D GO HOME AND CRY BECAUSE I COULDN’T PUT A SMILE ON MY OWN DAUGHTER’S FACE. 😭💔 Hey everyone. For those who don’t know me: my name is Camille, I’m 25, and I sell balloons from a little outdoor trolley at a zoo in Birmingham while raising my eight-year-old daughter, Lily, on my own. No rich parents. No ex-husband paying child maintenance. Just me. The rent on our damp little flat — where black mould creeps up the walls in winter and the bedrooms become unbearably stuffy in summer — had gone up to £1,100 a month. I worked as many hours as I could fit around Lily’s school hours and looking after her. In a good month, after paying for balloons, helium and my pitch, I was left with barely £1,500. And not every month was a good one. Some days, families queued beside my trolley before I’d even finished setting up. Other days, it rained from opening time until closing, and I stood under my little umbrella watching people hurry past with their hoods up. You can stand outside for six hours and still go home having earned almost nothing. When the British Gas bill arrived, I sat at the kitchen table and read it three times. Not because I didn’t understand it. Because I couldn’t work out what I was supposed to stop paying for. Lately, every working day had started to feel the same. Pulling the trolley into position. Checking the helium cylinder. Untangling ribbons with fingers that were already stiff from the cold. “Which one would you like, sweetheart? The lion or the dinosaur?” “Of course. I’ll tie it round your wrist so it doesn’t fly away.” Smiling while children pointed up at the balloons. Holding an entire bunch steady while their parents searched for a bank card. By the time I packed everything away, my lower back ached and my fingers were sore from tying knots all day. But Lily still needed collecting. Dinner still needed making. Her school uniform still needed washing. There were reading records
