Hi; I am Inna - I head up the Mummy Igloo; If it is bigger than 9m2; or weights more than 200kg; it's a Mummy Igloo. Due to my involvement in Project PINGU; I have chosen to stay semi -anonymous.
IGLOO CIC (Community Interest Company) Est 2025 Powered with Generative & Agentic AI. (formerly 'Hexayurt Project' - 2005)
Hi; I am Inna - I head up the Mummy Igloo; If it is bigger than 9m2; or weights more than 200kg; it's a Mummy Igloo. Due to my involvement in Project PINGU; I have chosen to stay semi -anonymous.
Hiya! I'm Inna
I'm the volunteer Environmental Mechanical Engineer
and in my humble opinion.....
I was forwarded and email from a concerned resident who said -
"Why am I even paying my tax? These junkies should be using the subsidized hostels like the rest of the smack-heads not igloos".
I believe in verbs I don’t believe in titles. The sentence falls in itself.
"I pay for these opioid dependent individuals to pay a small fee to live with other opioid dependent individuals not independent and free igloos"
They are a socially constructed, low-resolution way of compressing information—allowing us to say what we want while omitting what we don’t. Titles create a divide, marking who is “in” and who is “out.” They act as a passport into protected or unprotected groups.
A “Master” is not yet a “Mister.” A “Miss” doesn’t have a ring on her finger, meaning she is approachable. A “Mrs” tells others, “Go away; that’s my wife.” And what of “Ms”? It carries a different weight—it could mean she’s over 30, divorced, widowed, or simply that someone addressing her didn’t want to infantilise her with “Miss” or assume she’s married with “Mrs.” Titles are not always honorific.
There are also names—our personal and family identifiers. These are just sounds our parents chose to get our attention or signal us to others. Sometimes names are selected to avoid attention, while at other times, they’re meant to make a statement. For example, in the 1980s, a Jamaican family might name their children “Keith” and “Deborah” to avoid racial prejudice, so their ethnicity wouldn’t be apparent on a job or housing application. Imagine the surprise when “Keith” turns up for an interview, and the hiring manager—who’s never met a Black person before—is forced to confront their own prejudice.
On the other hand, a third or fourth-generation Jamaican family might proudly name their children “Fola” or “Madison” to reflect a reclaimed heritage, even if it leads to estrangement from more traditional relatives. Identity through names and titles can come full circle.
The pressure to adopt titles is everywhere. As a young person, you might feel compelled to call yourself an “Artist” or a “Writer” before you truly are one. Over time, as you gain experience, the title begins to feel earned. But titles are often self-deceptive, as much for ourselves as for others.
Titles follow us even after death, etched onto gravestones as though they define us. Yet not all mothers are spoken to by their children. Not all fathers have met their children. Not all journalists tell the truth. Titles are transient, often misleading.
If we know this about ourselves, why do we insist on assigning titles to those who are homeless? Why reduce them to “tramp,” “hobo,” “drunkard,” or worse? Such titles carry accusations: “ex-prisoner,” “junkie,” “smackhead,” or even “probably a rapist.” Emails forwarded to councillors sometimes include vile claims about rough sleepers; and nobody reported that they actually talked to the rough sleeper in the igloo. So; who are they to write so pejoratively about a complete stranger?
In Project PINGU and the affiliated ESKIMO database, we do not vet participants for criminal background checks. Councils often refuse housing to ex-offenders, but we will not perpetuate that exclusion. Locals sometimes complain, demanding DBS checks for rough sleepers in their community. Instead, we vet only the locations for igloos, ensuring they are not placed near schools. We believe that is enough.
Rough sleepers in Project PINGU spend, on average, fewer than four weeks in an igloo before moving on. Participants sign an agreement that any violent or sexual offence they are charged with—not convicted of, but charged—will result in their exclusion from the project. We do not include arrests or reports to the police to avoid the risk of false accusations. A criminal charge is the only title that remains permanent in the ESKIMO database.
The project’s goal is to connect homeless individuals, including those with high dependency on drugs, with others unlike them. It is about bridging gaps, not reinforcing divides. If HUSKY ai applicants are found to have been charged with a crime; we take them out of the ESKIMO database too - but this is not limited to sexual violence and physical violence; fraud; and drug dealing is also included. We subscribe to the sentencing register for monthly updates for this.
Project MAMA & GRANDMA is my task; and we are working towards preventing homelessness in elderly and disabled and fuel poverty populations and by seeking funding for everyone; so that everyone who has a disabled person or an elder living at home can care for them themselves with ease; and every Mother can afford heating a house with poor insulation and performance.
Every person should have their own warm and quite space, their own secure tenure and whatever they do: they are not forced by their family to sleep on the streets; and instead; have an igloo to use in the worst case scenarios.
She stands alone, beneath the hum,
Of neon lights and vacuumed drum.
Her world a patchwork, piece by piece,
Of cries and coos and fleeting peace.
They say it takes a village, still,
But where’s the house upon the hill?
The elders’ wisdom, sisters’ cheer,
The hands to help are nowhere near.
Her arms are tired, her heart is wide,
She feels the ebbing, rising tide.
The village now, a ghostly thread,
Exists in stories often said.
A glowing screen, a fleeting call,
The only solace in it all.
Yet through the cracks, her roots persist,
A quiet strength, a clenched-fist wrist.
Her child will grow on borrowed air,
Through second chances, quiet care.
And though the village is but a trace,
Her love has built a sacred space.
It takes a village, so they say,
But mothers forge their own each day.
Through silent strength, they carve a way,
A village of one, come what may.
By Gorden P Thompson - (our trained AI Language Model)