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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Pick up two heavy bricks. Hold them either side of your head. Use them to repeatedly hit yourself across the head and face until the ringing in your ears drowns out the sound of your own screaming, and you drop to the floor.

This is approximately how much fun flat hunting is.

Combining the joys of irritating your current housemates by putting them through another torturous round of housemate interviews, causing stress to your own relationship by suddenly revealing to your better half the exact extent of your frightening control freakery, and inducing the limb numbing misery of having to deal with estate agents on a daily basis: flat hunting is not and has never been a respectable hobby.

The long and short of it all is that we've found the best flat in the world, located directly between the train station that takes us to work and the pub in which we spent all of our wages (i.e. the two places we will be found when not in the office or at home), fully furnished and more importantly fully affordable, and one thing after another means that we probably will never get closer to the sniff of moving in. It's only been two weeks, I grant you that, but blimey heck I think we've already suffered enough.

All I'm asking, internet, is for somewhere to live. I don't think that's a tremendous amount to ask, is it? Also, I'm asking for permission to kill the estate agent we're currently dealing with. Again, is that too much? Is it?

I didn't think so.

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