Last Friday we finally achieved what at one stage looked completely unachievable, and signed contracts – frightening contracts, that threatened lots and promised absolutely nothing – to our brand new sparkling flat, which we are now going to be referring to as our Love Shack.
Our brand new Haven Of Romance is a flat on the third floor above what was until very recently a pub, and which still looks like a pub from a distance. Our new landlord, who is also one of the builders that worked on the conversion, gave me the complete history of the building of the flats while driving me there, complete with the saga of the water works, and the whole shebang of complications with the Council which is the reason why, for the moment, we are living without a post code (but also, hurrah, temporarily without council tax).
The Sin Bin we now call our home is a two and two-half roomed place, with three different shades of palatable orange on the walls, shutters on every window, ludicrous ceiling roses on every ceiling (other than the bathroom) and the smallest hallway ever known to man. The stairs through the building aren’t finished yet, flats one, two, eight and nine are not connected to any water, and the penthouse flat directly above us has no electricity.
The Love Nest boasts a brand new boiler, a brand new fridge freezer, a brand new washing machine, a brand new oven, a brand new double bed, two brand new sofas, a brand new dining table and four brand new chairs, and one brand new coffee table.
And that, my friends, is all we have.
We haven’t thought this through. You see, we’ve both been living, up until this moment, in a great sequence of shared accommodation, the advantage of which is the shared facilities, such as plates. Knives. Forks. Mugs. Glasses. Irons. We have nothing other than one mug that He Who Only…’s mother gave him to celebrate some footballing nonsense, and a saucepan that has a wobbly handle.
We’ve had to borrow two plates, two knives, two forks, two spoons and a mug from ex-houses. So far we’ve eaten a take away, and some toast, and we drink tea made from water boiled on the stove. We’re currently spending our working days perusing Argos and Tesco to find the best deals for New Home / Starter Set type crockery sets, and discussing the preferred colour for the bathmat.
How did it ever come to this?