the house that Jack built

I think it’s fair to say that since my husband and I have been together we haven’t had very much luck when it comes to renting property.

Our first home together was a snug little cottage, a two up-two down with a long quintessential English garden to the rear.  It had a makeshift extension come laundry room where we spent many an evening chatting, listening to music and drinking Absolute peach vodka.  But that was before the T.V was delivered.  Unfortunately those days are dead and buried now.  We were in that house for only twelve months as the damp was taking over faster than a bad case of chicken pox and the letting agent went into liquidation.  This meant we had zero chance of getting our £525 deposit back.

From there we moved to a property that was a much more appropriate.  A quiet cul-de-sac with lots of children and a stones throw away from our local wine bar.  High-fives all round.  Despite being advertised as ‘long term’ lease, twelve months in we got the dreaded call.  The owners’ circumstances had changed (which really meant her Spanish waiter boyfriend had dumped her, Shirley Valentine style) and she wanted to return to England and move back into the property with immediate effect.  This delightful news was delivered to us three weeks before Christmas and sought an alternative property immediately after the New Year.  Before leaving I scrubbed that house from top to bottom, my hands were red raw from the bleach yet we were still stung for carpet cleaning, tile steaming and garbage disposal.  We got just a measly £125 returned from £425 even after all the phone calls and letters. 

I’m seeing a pattern here I don’t know about you!

Onwards and upwards that’s my motto.  A good friend of ours very kindly provided us with a moving van at a discounted rate and helped us move into our new abode.  The new place seemed perfect; my little girl’s friends living next door, a fifteen minute walk to her school and ten minutes to the local.   Right now, things are far from perfect. 

When we moved in we noticed a pretty bad patch up job on the front door, I nodded to my fella and hinted at a break in maybe?  I wasn’t far off.  The previous tenant, who was in fact the landlady’s ex brother-in-law, had killed himself six weeks before we moved in.  The story goes that he’d hurt his leg, couldn’t work and got into debt.  Not being able to cope he hung himself from the loft which is situated outside all of our bedrooms.  Apparently his two children found him after the neighbours kicked in the front door.  This for me is BAD news.  I’m of a nervous disposition most of the time but there is not a day or night that goes by that I don’t think of this man or see a mental image of his dead body hanging outside my bedroom door.  I’ve never slept so little in my life.  Going to the loo in the middle of the night? – That’s an absolute no-no!  No drinks after 9.00pm in my house I tell you!

In addition to this we’ve had;  smashed roof tiles, a shower that we couldn’t shut off and gushed for three months and two leaks from the en-suite shower and water tank (the latter we are experiencing now) not to mention us having to kick the door in last month.  You’d think I’d be bald by now.

But all these are the least of our worries as we’ve now been served with an eviction notice for the 28^th of this month.  Nothing to do with us, our rent is paid religiously.  This story goes that the house was left to the landlady when her friend died (cancer) however she neglected to make mortgage payments and had no life insurance.  So the landlady and the bank are now at loggerheads as to who owns the house.  Over the last nine months we’ve had several visits and threatening letters all which the landlady has told us to ignore as she’s sorting it, so we have.  But judging from our previous luck I think we ought to seek a new home.  I’m off to change my name this week to Gypsy Rose Lee and purchase a caravan.

Hugs and kisses

Miss Piggy  x