So, the househunting is not going spectacularly well. It was always going to be tough, given the whole worst-rental-crisis-in-Victorian-history thing, but it’s been getting downright dispiriting, and every time a house does come up that might want us, we’re paying too much rent to scratch together a bond. We’re broke. As a joke.
As a result, I am not moving anywhere. The Boy, however, is going to move into my house for the next four-to-six months, while we save up for a new place and attempt to get jobs that sound less flaky on paper than ‘bar manager/soldier’ and ‘freelance writer’. It’s a bit of a studenty-sharehouse solution to the ‘living together’ question, and I’m quietly disappointed that we won’t have our little polished-floorboard Heidi house, but I can live without a gas oven for four-to-six months longer, I suppose.
On the upside, a marked increase of Boy in the house (50-73%), and this lovely lass is moving back from Poland into our front room. It’s gonna be just like the old days of our first house together, except for me being the one with the live-in boyfriend and hopefully without the psychopathic Frenchman. And just writing about it, I’m starting to get the weensiest bit excited. But talk to me when I’m lugging furniture, covered in dust, next week.
2 Comments
January 12, 2009 at 11:14 pm
When you started considering different fridge positions, I thought about our dear psychopathic Frenchman and how one day he decided he didn’t like us anymore, and so went out searching for fridges on nature strips, and then when he found one, he put it on his desk and said: ‘I don’t want to cook with you anymore’.
And from the ashes rose Davies St.
April 30, 2009 at 9:19 pm
[...] Jump to Comments So, we’d just about given up on moving – the market is terrible, our house is charming and cosy, we’re living on a shoestring at the [...]