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M is for Mentalbreakdownfrommovinghouse
 

M is for Mentalbreakdownfrommovinghouse


For the last year myself and my wonderful flatmates (Tom and Ces) have been living in a shitty apartment by the train tracks which was basically our only option of a house at the time.

We have finally found an amazing house which we move into on the 15th of February, but until then we are stuck with the joys of open homes, landlords, paperwork yadda yadda yadda.

This afternoon was the first of the open homes planned by the estate agent putting the house on the market. Tom and Ces wanted to be as far away as they could be, but being a cat mum, I stayed home to protect my little black baby (Oscar) and thus got to deal with the questions, the looks, the "sorrys" etc.

The first person (I shit you not) who arrived, boldly said "I used to live in number seven, just down the hall, so I know what all the apartments look like inside, but I have come for a look anyway"

Brilliant, four hours of cleaning, so some asshole from down the hall can come look at my undies hanging out to dry.

However within moments 40-60 people somehow managed to squeeze back to back into my tiny two bedroom apartment and proceed to fling questions at me willy nilly. "Does it get much light" - yes through the windows. "How much is the water bill" - the same as you would pay where ever else you ******* live. "Are the trains noisy" - no, not at all you silly bitch they are silent trains.

They have finally gone, 30 men came in my room in 15mins, a new record.