On Saturday, I found the perfect house, walking distance to the tube, lovely big rooms, wonderful neighbours, one of whom I already knew and I immediately put in a full asking price offer. Today the agent rang with the news that I can't have the house because they are selling it for less money to a couple they had a cup of tea with and struck up a relationship with. So it was just sod's law that they weren't in to offer me a cuppa when I went round. I am absolutely gutted and am writing this in tears. They wanted a quick sale and I was a cash buyer who could have moved in by Christmas.
Why, oh why, do I have such bad luck? I have been trying to find myself a home for three years. I haven't had my own space for seven years. I haven't seen my pictures and lovely art deco pottery in all that time. My mattress has probably been eaten by the mice that infest the storage unit. I am having to write all cramped up in the freezing, draughty bedroom and finally, I thought I had found my new home and everything was going my way. Any day now, I shall have to pay the storage people another £210, which I have been paying out every month for seven years. Do the math. I am so depressed...
Pup On My Pillow!
11 hours ago