Back on January 5th this year, a good three or four days after breaking all my new year's resolutions, someone attacked the soft underbelly of my car with a machete. Or possibly a penknife. But machete sounds better. As a result, I very nearly missed my first appointment of the day to view a flat in Brighton, but thanks to the sterling work carried out by a local AA man (who probably wondered what the world is coming to when a 32 year old man doesn't know how to change a tyre), I made that appointment.

Which turned out to be kind of fateful. Because as of today, that flat which I very nearly missed due to feeling slightly deflated, is now officially mine (well, my brother's - I have no worldly goods of my own*). And it only took six and a half months. I can see a gap in the market for EasyJet's Stelios to open some kind of estate agent where you can buy a house within a week. He'd clean up.

And talking of cleaning up, I've already packed the j-cloths. We pick up the keys in 24 hours time, and as of tomorrow I start paying rent. So much like the tyres on my car, my bank balance has been dramatically slashed. The vacuum cleaner's in the boot of the car as we speak, which is a little optimistic as we don't even know if the place has electricity yet, and being English, I'm also taking a kettle. Which, it just so happens, was given to me second-hand by my Big Sis when she moved to Texas three years ago. Naturally I've never used it, but it's the closest thing we've got to a family heirloom, so I've never thrown it away either.

I knew having a spare kettle would come in handy when I get a second home by the seaside, and ladies & gentlemen, that day has arrived. Although when I stop paying rent on this place in a month's time, it's going straight to a car boot sale.

* apart from a kettle.