annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hove sweet Hove Gah. Me and my mouth. Or my typing fingers, at least. That flat I saw today was the ultimate wind-up. Lovely street, gorgeous front room, with fireplace, bay windows, high ceilings with original coving, loads of room - in fact so much room that the current tenant has her bed in there as well as a sofa and a telly. So is this the 'large double bedroom' or the lounge/diner? There was a great kitchen, lovely garden with original mosaic round the edge of the patio, lawn, borders, tree, old stone wall. Hideously overlooked by tall buildings, but who cares? But where's the other room? It's a fucking corridor, with recesses - you could only get a single bed in there and you'd have to squeeze past it. Fucking lying bastard fucking estate agents - I mean yes, I know, I know - I've seen more estate-agents-are-lying-bastards-based comedy than I can shake a stick at, but still - it's a studio flat and I'm a bloody grandmother. I'm too old to be receiving callers in my bedroom without becoming unbearably miserable about the decisions in my life that have led me to such a state at such an age. I was in the flat for quite a while, trying to work out a way to do it - I even contemplated giving up my sleigh bed (and I do love my bed and how safe I feel, all snuggled up in it), but there just wasn't enough space. It was a good thing Bloke was there. He went off and I walked the bloody walk again, calling in on my friend MK (since I went discreet I've noticed how many of my friends have names beginning with either M or S), to have a quick cry and hear about her progress towards getting funding from Channel 4 for a documentary - she's passed through several gateway stages - yay for her and back round the agents. I walked two and a half miles (love www.mapometer) and managed to a) cry all over a nice young man, who was SO young and so like a kid I used to teach that I had to bite my tongue to not say, fondly, 'Look at you in your suit, all grown up, doing a proper job!' and b) book a viewing for a flat in one of the squares of the seafront which is not only on the first floor but also way above my budget. I cancelled it just now - it was just despair and exhaustion. I'd decided I'd have to either consider a first floor (second floor USA) or be prepared to pay a bit more, but not both. There's some guy who owns a big chunk of one of the conservation areas and is letting out flats at a good rate - I keep almost booking to see different places but they're all furnished and not cheap enough for me to pay to store furniture for a couple of years. He seems to have different places with different agents - my eyes kept alighting on the word Montpelier in the address, sliding across to the rent, the description, the pic. Ah the hope - the fickle bloody hope. I'm stopping now to watch a documentary about Susan Boyle, as recommended on twitter by Julian Clary. 8:55 p.m. - 04.11.11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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