Preface.

The thing about being born a Bohemian means you don't get to chose your name. It's given to you. At least I got a decent one. My name is Olivia. I don't really have a second name unless my dad's counts as mine. Maybe. Anyway, I don't know how my parents named me that, probably after Olivia Newton-John. But that's my parents. Bohemians. They're awsome parents. Let me tell you about my family...

There's my dad. Paul McCartney or Sir Paul McCartney. But most of the Bohemians call him Big Macca. The only person who does call him Sir Paul McCartney is my mum and you don't want to know what they're doing when she calls him that. Well you can guess.

My mum was born a Bohemian, like me, and then met my dad and 'turned him' ofcourse I mean rescued him from the Seceret Police. She was given the name Jackson 5. It's a really cool name.

I never knew my grandma, she died before I was born, but my grandad is still living. His name's Pop. He's undercover in GaGa land as a librairian in the seceret histories. Every so ofter he'll send us an email or bring bits of the ancient texts. I miss him I haven't seen him in a year.

Ok, that's my imediate family, but there's more. My mum had a sister, my aunt, who's called Hayley, as in Hayley Williams from Paramore.

And then the closest thing I have to a sibling is Brit. He's 11 years older then me. I'm 5 he's 16. He's like my super-cool older brother. Britney Spears. But we call him Brit. The only time he gets called Britney Spears is when he's introuble.

Ofcourse, there are other Bohemians. At the HeartBreak Hotel, where we live, there are around 20ish Bohemians. I know them all but I can't remember all of their names off the top of my head. But there's Cliff, 9, Rhianna, 21, and Tytania, she's 19. Thoses are some of the youngest who aren't my siblings. Cheeky fairy is 17, Prince 25, Michael 32, the list goes on but I won't list them all. My parents are around 26/27. They were young when they had me.

Anyway. This is my story.

Oh, by the way,I have dreams. There was never anything to suggest there was only one dreamer. They tell me songwords and the future and the past. It all gets annoying. But I'm not the dreamer. But one day, he and his Bad Arsed Babe, will come and rock 'n' roll will be restored.