Beggars can't be Choosers

With Rictus and Shirley safely behind bars… oops, at school and Crispin locked in his private living room, doing things, I thought the time was ripe to have a look at property online to gauge what might be available in Tunbridge Wells. NOT A LOT. The property market isn’t exactly booming, nobody’s selling because their homes are not going up in value to unjustifiable levels, as had been the case before the Credit Crunch, banking crisis and a former fluffy-towel-folder being given the job as Chancellor of the Exchequer (I love that word "Exchequer").

Good for me on one level - house prices going down, but bad on another level, as what’s available is, to be honest, absolute shit. But a woman who’s about to divorce, with no real career (only an imagined one) and no interest accruing on her beloved stash, I am only in the position to buy shit. They say “you can’t polish a turd”, well I will bloody have to. Whatever I buy will have to be improved. Which sucks really because I’m not a dab hand at DIY. I’ll let you into a secret: I can’t even hang a picture up, screw straight or change a light bulb (and that’s not really DIY). And as for flat pack furniture - I'll kill you, you bastard!

Anyway, I’m going to view a property tomorrow, accompanied by Crispin (who can’t wait to see the back of me) and I’m already worrying that my trip might be a waste of time. The estate agent almost seemed to be trying to put me off viewing it (strange, I thought they were desperate right now?). She said “it needs a hell of a lot of updating” and “a whole family was wiped out by fungal fumes”. And I said “that sounds great! Can I see it at your earliest convenience?”.

People (my mother, Crispin and some American I know) are already advising me to be cautious, but me, when have I ever been cautious? My life would have been thoroughly boring if I’d followed the path of caution. I feed off and thrive on mishaps, mistakes and tragedies. Does it matter if the new flat has dry rot? No, of course it doesn’t – quorn (the vegetarian meat substitute) is a form of dry rot, I can eat it! Will the stairs crumble from beneath my feet? They might! But I’ve always been good at jumping.
I’ll go along tomorrow with an open mind, if it’s not right for me and the children, I’ll know. There will always be other shit coming along.

(Disclaimer: I take no responsibility for the cliches in this blog, it was the gin and tonic)