So we're finally getting our crap together and thinking about looking for flats.
I say thinking. we haven't done any actually looking yet. Weeeeeeeeell, we have two months.
Moving for me has always been a stress. Ever since I had a phone call back in 1997 that woke me up, in my shared £37.50 per month room on University campus, to tell me the house we had put a deposit on for the next year had fallen through. Almost literally, as the ceilings had collapsed. Now in a way, this turned out to be a good thing, but being the innocent young sap I was - I shat kittens.
It was fine. I mean, it's always fine. Everything works out. Even that time just after Uni when I literally had no where to stay for six weeks or so. I ended up moving in with a friend of a specialfriend. And then (whisper it), defiling his pure-vegan household while he was away with Mark and Parsnips, who also would have ended up homeless for a few nights. Whoops...
This place was difficult to find, but our budgets were low and our standards high (natch).
But for now we're working out what our budget is and where we want to be. Viewing places is a bit of hassle, but an excuse to nose round other people's gaffs. Huzzah.
Hate most estate agents too. Am hoping for one like the last Damascus had. Who was insane and brilliant. She got very excited by a spare folder left i the flat and asked to keep it. Before breaking a doorhandle.
"Well, they're gonna have to fix that..."