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mistakes

Funny Thing Happened…

Hmmm. I’m almost too embarrassed to say this. I believe I will be moving AGAIN shortly.

I’m not gonna gripe excessively. Actually, it’s good to be back in London. Pretty fucking great, mostly. Social life’s not doing too bad; I think, in 25+ days here, I’ve only spent about four or five days/nights in with no socialising. Even the sex life’s got some moderate activity. So that’s all A-OK.

But my seemingly reasonable landlord misled me a bit, about how often he’d be here, and as this is only a one-bedroom flat and the kitchen adjoins the living room (which he uses as a bedroom), a full-time share just doesn’t work. It’s untenable. I took it on the basis that he was only here occasionally. For the first three weeks he was here practically all the damn time, shutting the living room door at 11pm most nights, spending numerous afternoons watching TV very LOUDLY with his mates while spliffing up, etc. Regular Boys’ Club shit. All the stuff his fiancee in North London won’t let him do, presumably…
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A Farce, You Say?

Hmmm… haven’t felt much like writing on here for a while. Real life gets in the way sometimes, have had a really, really weird three weeks, sometimes very depressed and generally disorientated.

Well, the move to Brighton happened. And about five seconds after, I realised it was a total, fucking mistake. You can’t begin to imagine what an amazing mind-fuck that is. This is what happens if you’re stuck in a too-expensive place on your own—you don’t think things through properly.

How can I detail my problems with Brighton? *sigh* Let’s try a bulleted list…

* I actually have friends in London.
* I miss them.
* It’s not as quick/easy to get to London as I deluded myself.
* It’s even harder to get to anywhere else in the country. Travel from here is just a total pisser.
* I got shit on by a bird for the first time since I was about seven years old within a couple of days of coming here.
* The coastal winds are utterly vicious, especially at night.
* And the nights are cooooooooold.
* Spiders and woodlice and bugs generally… lots of them. Everywhere.
* Nothing resembling a ‘proper’ city locally.
* Most of the buildings are ancient and in a shockingly awful state of decay. Even the really expensive ones. Double-glazing hasn’t been invented here yet.
* Living in an ancient, conversion-job building with a shared entrance and paper-thin walls really sucks. I don’t want to know when someone in the floor above farts, but I pretty much do.
* This Hobbit-hole won’t even allow a single divan through its doors. I still have neither a proper sofa to sit on or a bed to sleep on.
* Fresh coastal air, yes, but tons of earthy dirt and grime and dust nonetheless. Everywhere. Poor pooch Fred had a totally black belly within a week of being here.

And on and on and on. Think you get the idea. Brighton’s a beautiful place to visit, but man, living here is another matter entirely.
Read More »A Farce, You Say?