My friends and I are currently looking for a house. All three of us are grown ups and due to one reason or another (the majority being men, and men problems) we are all living back with one or other of our parents, and craving our independence again.
So we have started the hunt. Having been a lettings agent in a former life, I have taken the helm (I am also a bossy madam, so I guess it’s natural) and the three of us have started, in earnest, looking for the perfect dwelling.
The first one, before Melissa came on board, was a two bedroom flat. Sold to me by the old man who was privately renting it, it sounded brilliant. We went to have a look round, and found that despite having a really sweet old man as the landlord, he was somewhat deceived at the state of the abode he was offering.
The first thing was the fact that the flat was ‘modern’. It turns out that modern meant fifteen years ago, rather than what you would imagine modern to be now. But the comedy was in the way he showed us round “right, I’ll let you know all the things that are wrong with it girls!” and then proceeded to point out stains, dodgy light fittings and general issues. Bless him.
It wasn’t actually that bad, but the price was way out for what it offered. Back to the drawing board.
Em looked at some more last night by herself, and commented on darkness, and how they all smelled ‘like student houses’. Upon asking her to identify the smell we gathered that it may or may not be mould, and so again, back to the drawing board.
The next couple of nights look a little more promising however. We wait with baited breath!