There have been better weeks than this.
Living out of a suitcase, staying in a decrepit hotel run like Fawlty Towers with a South London twist. Eating pre-made salads with plastic forks and drinking too much. Considering suicide by jamming my head between the covers of my Powerbook when the fifth day of house hunting proves finally that when renting the word "student" is a form of tenancy menangitis. Sharing the room with my one-week married best friend amidst a Bold and the Beautiful worthy relationship meltdown. Finding great joy in the weeks only triumph of "free" internet garnered from a neighbouring flat yet to discover how to protect their network.
Oh, but I almost forgot, at least there was sunshine. Lots of sunshine.
4 comments:
As a resident of a not-so-leafy part of south-west London, even I had to pause to shiver for a moment when you mentioned "south London".
You have my deepest sympathy.
Did the sunshine make you homesick?
But at least you knew you could write about it - surely that makes it better? (Oh, OK, probably not, but surely that and the internet must be some consolation).
UW - Many thanks for your condolensces but they are no longer required, I have since relocated to norf of the river.
Lillipilli - Yes of sorts. But I think at home we take it for granted, where as here it seems much more appreciated, like getting a present from a thrifty aunt who usually only sends a cheesy card.
Melograna - I guess so. Perhaps all shitty experiences are beneficial in that sense. Good stories are usually far less interesting.
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