We’d finished viewing the dollhouse on Dover St and Anthony had gone to his football game. I had arranged to meet Harold at 13:45 that day (Saturday) at the 2 bedroom terrace house on Cemetery Rd. I didn’t want to go alone so I dragged my 16 year old sister along.
We parked up outside the door, the walls were painted red and half pealing off which put me off. Harold unlocked the brown PVC front door and in we stepped into the living room. A good sized room and a stone fireplace. The walls were magnolia and the carpet a coffee brown; not my coffee though.. My coffee colour needs to match a Rich Tea biscuit before it passes my inspection!
My mood about the place changed when we walked into the kitchen. The wall on the right had very LOUD wallpaper, ok it was easy to paint over or strip down to its bare but Jesus Christ! The kitchen units weren’t great and the white cooker had discoloured to a piss yellow, and it was right at the end of the units. Weird.
In the kitchen was a door. And behind that door were some unsafe steps down into the cellar. Spooky. Not really, it was just a room that needed attention. Not at my expense though. And then there were the stairs that led to upstairs.
Typical main bedroom and second bedroom really. Nothing to report. But the bathroom… There was no shower. I just couldn’t see myself or Anthony sat in the bath every night with a plastic jug to rinse the suds of our hair.
It’s getting beyond a joke this. How hard is it to just find a bloody house to move into?