Sunday, 30 September 2012

So my advice would be...

Choose a nice, neat little box on a Barrats estate. Because if you decide to move into a 17th century house, and it turns out your new flat has been uninhabited since around 2010 and you believed your cunt estate agent when they said the flat is in pristine condition, this is what will happen:

Your sofa won't fit through the door. Yes, that's right. 17th century people didn't have sofas. They probably sat on sacks of potatoes or something. And if they were rich then they most likely would have used their servant as a table. Either way, sofas - even small, beautiful ones that you love a lot - won't be going into your new house.

So, you resolve to sit on the floor. And then you see a letter for your flat. Dated three days ago. From the bailiffs. Estate agents didn't mention that little number when they were demanding money now, did they? I phone Bailiff Dave who reassures me that I have at least a few days before they come back. This despite me explaining very very slowly that it isn't my problem.

So, then I thought I better eat. I put some chips in the oven. It's fucked and blows something. I lose all power. I look in what is laughingly called a welcome pack from aforementioned cunt landlords and it turns our that the number they have put down for emergencies is 999. Yes, really. That's what they gave as an emergency number.Otherwise you can call the office. Which is shut. Oh, and for an extra special helpful treat they inform you that you may not organise an electrician yourself and if you do, they won't be reimbursing you. I paid these cuntmeisters something like £300 admin fee. May as well have just flushed it down the toilet. Except it probably wouldn't fucking work.

I meet the neighbour and ask for his help. And although none was forthcoming on the electricity front, he gave me water to make tea and let me charge my phone in his place. Well, it's his place in as much as he works there. Anyway, that's not important right now.

One emergency electrician later - gorgeous, called Jack, am keeping his number - I have power.

I decide to have a shower. Turns out it's totally blocked. Probably with a dead body or something. Judging by the fucking smell anyway. The bathroom sink doesn't drain either. Maybe that's where the last tenant is.

Three bottles of sulphuric acid and 12 kettles of boiling water and it's definitely smelling a lot better. I switch it on. It. Doesn't. Fucking. WORK.

No comments:

Post a comment