It's interesting the things you find in the local paper. Lisa and I went up the hill yesterday evening to visit her mother (who lives on higher ground to give her a better vantage point for spying on her neighbours), which meant having to sit through Coronation Street and listen to a debate on the pros and cons of raising your own grandchild. So naturally I turned to the Brighton Argus and began flicking through the property section. I like to be prepared in case I win the lottery.
So there I am, leafing through the paper while two grown women discuss a soap as though it's real life, when I turn the page and see this...
It's my car!!! And you can see the bird poo down the side, which I think proves my point about the Lib Dems. It turns out that the couple who live directly above me are selling their flat, which is obviously fantastic news because they bang on my ceiling every time I play the guitar. So good riddance I say. Although obviously I wish them well.
The building behind my lovely blue Skoda is indeed the place I call home, although both me and my intolerant neighbours live around the back where there are significantly fewer windows. A fact which hasn't stopped them putting their flat on the market for £179,950. Admittedly it looks quite attractive on the internet with my car parked outside, but isn't it getting slightly ridiculous when a one-bedroom flat with two windows and a bloke downstairs who plays Matchbox 20 on the guitar, gets priced at a hundred and eighty grand? How are people like me, living hand to mouth on the breadline (well, eating a lot of sandwiches) supposed to get on the property ladder? It's an outrage.
According to the paper, they're having an 'Open Day' on Saturday when people with a quarter of a million to spend on a hovel can come round and trample about on my ceiling for eight hours. Unfortunately I won't be here, as Lisa and I will be in Essex for the weekend. Which is a shame, as I was just in the mood for a bit of rock music.
The biggest problem though is what's going to happen when my brother finds out that the flat he bought last summer purely to foster true love between me and Lisa, has increased in value by £50,000 in under a year, and he's now officially sitting on a goldmine. Never mind the property ladder, this time next month I could be homeless.