Friday, February 04, 2005

House Hunting

Taking a rather more personal tack today, I thought I'd let you know about the exciting house hunt we went on yesterday. Warning: Names will be dropped. Take heed.

We're moving out of the house we've lived in for the past three and a half years, affectionately known as 'the old shithole', hopefully into somewhere with a kitchen that can be measured in square metres and a landlord who doesn't employ Laurel & Hardy's heirs to perform home repairs. We're taken by a disarmingly honest-seeming letting agent to see the flat owned (and previously lived in) by HANNAH. From S Club. This was very exciting. Nice toilet, broken stair, horrible shelving in the third bedroom. We're not going to move in though, more's the pity.

Then (anticlimax ahead), we went to see a dump that smelt like the bin behind a fast food restaurant, where the person who'd furnished the place was either an arch-ironist, wrapping themselves in layers of camp and kitsch and rolling about on the floor in their own self-satisfaction, or they'd just done it on the cheap from an Eastern European detention centre. We politely said no to that one, too.

Then we were shown to a flat on the top floor, about which the overbearing estate agent in the office all but reached orgasm. We had to go in a lift, and it was very brown, so the signs were good for me. It had roof terraces on all 3 sides, great views of london, the hugest front room you'll ever see, imacculately decorated, a dishwasher, was owned by an ex-member of the Bill, and it had 2 large bedrooms and one box room, so we couldn't have it. Arrgh. It was gorgeous though. We were all sizing up the room, trying to push on the walls to see if it could be made any larger, but it was about the size of a double bed, so no go. The suggestion was made that we turn one of the larger bedrooms into a dorm, with bunks, but we had to admit to ourselves that we couldn't live there. Boo.

And then we saw a very nice house that we might go for, but no celebrities were connected with it, so I won't bore you with the details.

Two hours forty-five minutes until the weekend. What a service I provide.

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