What a week! I feel like a dildo in a Dutch Swingers Club: I have literally been all over the place.

First of all Gillian (who needs an NLPH nickname still) moved in chez shitehole flat. Me sitting in the living room smoking all night is mildly unpleasant. Two of us results a sort of hazy crack den feel. Three (I’ve been entertaining) means that finding the remote is like trying to nit-hunt in Don King’s hair. It’s absolutely freezing up here in the North, but the windows are open. And so we all sit in our happy fug, the other two throwing random abuse at me for not having more than four music channels, me simply absorbing it all and trying to work out how many items of clothing I can still fit on my convulsing body. All good. I love it.

HOWEVER:

(Dramatic, non?)  It’s not for much longer! Seeing as how I’m currently on a camp bed in the back room with my collection of cardboard boxes, I thought: Time to move. I’m sharp like that. So I’ve investigated mortgages, decided to wait one year exactly till I’m a bit more solvent, and last night me and Gillian (G? Mrs G? The Missus? No no no) went to look at a rental on the off chance.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

It was amazing.

Completely.

So we got up early this morning (no mean feat considering one of our mates has brought back some ‘Dam special and I’ve fallen off the goodgirl wagon a teensy bit) and said we’d like to talk turkey. We are being given first refusal because the girl who owns it liked us. She has five cats and is moving to Edinburgh. Two of them are staying with the next door neighbour, so will in all likelihood just stay in “their” house. When we walked in the door the first thing to greet us was the most adorable jellicle cat, who jumps to have his head stroked. I think the instant fuss we made of him swung it our way. We could be living in possibly the best house I’ve ever seen for such a price as we plebs can afford, and with two live-in poodies who need an adopted Mam (and Mam, I was going to say, but this talk of cats and two women living together could go way leftfield, don’t you think?). And within the next two weeks this will happen, if I can get my arse into gear and throw some of the vast quantities of shite that I own away.

I know that the Mam was on about the slashing in my flats t’other night, and since then I’ve stood on a syringe outside my front door, so it’s possibly the best thing to happen to me in a loooong time. And having a housemate again seems to be doing me some good. I’m off work on holidays all week, and I actually spent some time outside yesterday and everything. Well, obviously going to bed at three after almost wetting myself giggling may not be too sensible, but it’s not a regular occurrence, and at least I wasn’t pissed. Which I have been a lot recently thanks to someone who drinks Stella at eleven am on Saturday mornings (no bad thing. Honest. J).

I also got my delivery of cellulose cigarette papers today, which are meant to be better for you (whatever) but look well cool as they are see-through. I’m like a child, I really am. The only problem is that half of my order was kingsize (by accident, honest Mam), and because they are Brazilian, via Holland, this means that they are KINGSIZE. Think I’ll be giving some away, frankly. Unless I want to stand outside work everyday smoking something almost half a foot long. Not too sensible when I work in the same building as the city police. Mind you, they’re see-through, so can be checked. Hmm… Would that work? Don’t think so. And I meant that the cigs are see-through, not the police, and … oh, never mind.

Right I’m off to get a credit check and some bin bags. Wish me luck. Hopefully you are all warm inside, thinking about getting into your stand alone two-person bath and – oh sorry, is that just my new house? Hee hee. Fingers crossed nothing fucks up.

This is me, after all….

Laters.

xx