On a mission to move

It seems so contradictory that we are building our own house abroad, yet here in England, we live in a dingy, Council rented flat. We don't have much choice at the moment: we can hardly apply for a mortgage when my husband runs an escort agency for a living! And we can't afford to save up and buy outright either. But we desperately need to move. It used to be such a nice place here. On the edge of the countryside, modenised, with a great view of the valley from the window. But we need more space now: we have a new baby, and my stepchildren come to stay every weekend. Four children sleeping in one room is chaos. To make matters worse, like every nice place, this town had gradually gone downhill. On the stairwell, the local drug dealers convene every night, leaving ugly slogans and empty wrappers for my kids to find in the morning. I've had enough. It is my mission that we will move within the next three months, one way or another. I'm fed up with waiting lists and paperwork: this seeming conspiracy that the system doesn't want us to move. So I'm going to make the system work for us.