D
Damini
Guest
Well, me and Kenny got the thumbs up for getting a mortgage, so today the house hunting began.
For prosterity, I shall record the hunting process. I can hear you all whimpering with joy already
Turned up at the house slightly early, so I took the opportunity to explore. A few things I found slightly disconcerting;
The place was seething with fat children who smoked and spat.
The property value was probably worked out on the basis that shopping trolleys have a monetary value, and so therefore saw them as an investment. I think they attributed to 1/4 of the value of the house.
The road sign had been cunningly altered to include the word fuck and shit.
I found three fridges in three minutes.
The house opposite has the shell of a car, painted gaudy colours, and proclaiming the legend "RETARD 463" on a billboard mounted on top of it.
And so, I entered the property. Cue crushing handshake from nervous estate agent, obviously slightly apprehensive about leaving his car out of sight for any prolonged periods of time.
The house was *interesting*. Ex-student property, and it had the works. Tasteful woodchip wallpaper, seventies decor, chipped plastic kitchen... The front window had was appeared to be an air pellet hole smashed in it... The bathroom was a chirpy paisley number, crammed into what I can only assume was once a cupboard.
Inside the actual cupboard in the downstairs bedroom I found a door. Disappointingly, it did not lead to Narnia. It lead to the concrete vomit of a backgarden, where I found a washing machine and a hand drawn sign telling me "Smile - You're On Camera!". Oh, the warm rush of reassurance I felt.
Upstairs was marginally better, but the main bedroom had plastic fitted cupboards which, while they might once have been white, now are the colour I can only describe as the Bognorism "Lung Butter". If you don't know, don't ask, because you don't want to know. Guilded fake gold Lung Butter plastic fitted wardrobes. Lawrence Blah Blah Bowen would have a seizure.
I don't think this is the property for me. The search goes on...
For prosterity, I shall record the hunting process. I can hear you all whimpering with joy already
Turned up at the house slightly early, so I took the opportunity to explore. A few things I found slightly disconcerting;
The place was seething with fat children who smoked and spat.
The property value was probably worked out on the basis that shopping trolleys have a monetary value, and so therefore saw them as an investment. I think they attributed to 1/4 of the value of the house.
The road sign had been cunningly altered to include the word fuck and shit.
I found three fridges in three minutes.
The house opposite has the shell of a car, painted gaudy colours, and proclaiming the legend "RETARD 463" on a billboard mounted on top of it.
And so, I entered the property. Cue crushing handshake from nervous estate agent, obviously slightly apprehensive about leaving his car out of sight for any prolonged periods of time.
The house was *interesting*. Ex-student property, and it had the works. Tasteful woodchip wallpaper, seventies decor, chipped plastic kitchen... The front window had was appeared to be an air pellet hole smashed in it... The bathroom was a chirpy paisley number, crammed into what I can only assume was once a cupboard.
Inside the actual cupboard in the downstairs bedroom I found a door. Disappointingly, it did not lead to Narnia. It lead to the concrete vomit of a backgarden, where I found a washing machine and a hand drawn sign telling me "Smile - You're On Camera!". Oh, the warm rush of reassurance I felt.
Upstairs was marginally better, but the main bedroom had plastic fitted cupboards which, while they might once have been white, now are the colour I can only describe as the Bognorism "Lung Butter". If you don't know, don't ask, because you don't want to know. Guilded fake gold Lung Butter plastic fitted wardrobes. Lawrence Blah Blah Bowen would have a seizure.
I don't think this is the property for me. The search goes on...