annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary

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Phew

Oh my God, bloody hell, I don't know whether to be happy (yes!!) or not. I've put a 200 non-refundable holding deposit down on a flat. Yikes. It is beautiful - aw man, it's fucking lovely, but it's expensive and I've agreed to pay six months in advance (no DSS) and now I'm all in a flap because I'm too agitated to do the maths of it. I think I can make it work though I may have to borrow a bit to tide me over, but I can't think about it properly. Bloke is coming round tomorrow and we're going to go through it together. He thinks it's fabulous too - wholehearted approval and reassurance that all will be well. I really really hope so.

Aw man, it's far more gorgeous than I'd aspired to - gracious proportions, probably three minutes from the beach, which you can see from right outside the front door, loads of space, a fab kitchen, a big outdoor deck with loads of room for my pots, table and bench, leaving space in the middle. It's all terraced so the Bobcat will be safe out the back, same as here. I just looked at my list of desirable features and it's tick, tick, tick. Accessibility is not perfect - there are steps up to the front door, but they're not steep and there are wrought-iron railings, good and strong - I checked them out as I went in. There's also a step down to the bathroom and kitchen, not brilliant. The garden is off the kitchen not the living room. The hob is electric not gas. Those are the only things missing from my fantasy dream flat. They're not deal-breakers, are they? Aw man, I am taking it, I am gonna find a way.

For the record, I opened my email this morning to find updatess from seven different agents, offering fifty-nine properties, not one of which was remotely useful. Like a nine bedroom house for three grand a week, studio flats, third floor (loads of those) and ones I knew were off the market. I cried and cried and cried, just utter exhaustion at these fuckers sending me all this unfiltered, inappropriate aggravation.

Then, a bit later one of the nice lads I met on Friday (not the one I broke down and cried in front of, one of his colleagues), sent me an email asking if this one would suit. It's not available till Dec 10th and it turns out it belongs to his dad - the agents are just doing the paperwork, much as happened with this landlord. When I said I'd take it, we went to the office and someone else took over.

Night night, darlings. Happy sighs of relief. xxx

8:13 p.m. - 09.11.11

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