I've always loved writing. I want to be an author one day. Mother says I should keep a diary for now.

So what can I say so far? I'm twelve, I live with my parents, five brothers and four sisters in a small cottage in the centre of London and I work in the local ribbon factory cleaning the machines. I have been working since I was five. Father says it helps to keep food on the table. My brothers work as chimney sweeps. I don't know what that is. They never tell me.

One thing I know is all our jobs are dangerous. I often wonder if there will be a day when one of us will not return home. I hope I won't have to work for much longer. Maybe I will be able to write a proper book and earn enough money to leave work for good. Mother would just tell me to stop dreaming. The sun is setting. I have to go to bed now. Well, it's actually the floor. Only my parents get a bed. I'm used to it though. I'm working from dawn tomorrow. I don't want to risk being late.