Perhaps more constipated than angry…

In a typical fashion, it had again been a long time since anything was populated on this here blog site of lies, treachery and deceit. One would argue this is just par the course these days, as remarkably it can become a lot harder to type away, hammering the keyboard unless you actually have anything to say beyond the fact you bought a jumper and watched TV.

Besides, that is what the likes of Twiiter and Facebook are for, if you’re going to make various questionable remarks to people who never chat with you, that’s the best place to do it.

This being the internet, it is also now confirmed the best place for venting bile and anger at pretty much anything that takes your fancy, and through the recent meh-fest that has been #gamergate, which instead of being about ethics because of various people having sex with each other or something, became a nice way of bitch slapping various “social warriors” about the place, and turning a form of entertainment into some kind of struggle against all things evil or orange or whatever in the world. You can tell I really paid attention…. basically people clearly are bored, and don’t actually just want to play the games they paid money for. Maybe the new hash tag should have been; #areyoubored?

Instead I shall now turn the well meaning but ultimately flawed rage against first world issues towards moving home and the hell of other people.

Now which box did I leave those small children in?

Back towards the end of August, against all odds, a flat still within the greater London area was secured, and thus a huge lifeline away from being forced to live in Zone ZZZ345, facing a 37 hour commute with armpits being shoved in your face and a nice bill for your first born just to pay for the weekly train ticket.

This was more incredible as for the first time ever, it involved getting a mortgage, speaking with someone you would never meet about money you would never see. The only way staying local to where I had been pissing away countless amounts of money before, was to enter a shared ownership agreement with a local authority, which had only come about due to the first person being forced to drop out, owing to the fact they could not provide any paperwork to prove they could afford it.

This was why it was against the odds, this new man-cave which became the formal residence of the Lord of Leisure wasn’t even supposed to be offered to me in the first place. But somehow it came through and off on the merry ladder of home buying we go. A few simple weeks to wait for paperwork to go through, spend lots of money on legal experts and all done without an issue at all.

Nope.

Without knowing for sure, it was more painful than what Jack Bauer wanted to do to that banker fella, sticking a towel down his throat and wanting to pull in back out bringing with it, bits of stomach (Series 1, he says it…. dude is messed up)

It seems that there are two main parties which will make you cry and wish for ISIS to come along and slice your head off;

• The people you are buying from
• The solicitors which are paid too much to do the legal stuff

Here, the people you buy from, range from I suspect either the living embodiment of Jesus Christ, who are forgiving, ah, for I know not what I do, to what I ended up dealing with, which was Ozzy Osborne. Well…actually Ozzy would have made more sense. Delays, upon delays were presented constantly, and for some inane reason I had to listen to stories about next door neighbours, which turned out to be complete b*llocks. Was this part of the test, to see if I were truly worthy?

No gentle reader, for the worst part of this whole affair, was the legal side. It appears that solicitors when they have money coming their way upon completing the work…. don’t want to complete the work to receive said money. I imagine BT was so happy that I ran up the national debt of Ireland in phone calls, Virgin for train tickets and Royal Mail for express delivery, all in a vain attempt to force people to do their jobs. If you do not watch what they do like a vulture circling a carcus, I suspect I would have been living in a cardboard box for 6 months before they finally got everything sorted.

Even better is the blame game that everyone likes play, as in a game of faulty tennis, in that it was their fault for it being Tuesday, to it’s your fault for using paper without a letterhead to say you are doing something. It was the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.

It was also only upon actually getting the keys after re-arranging the date for handover several times, that you also start finding out what the previous owner didn’t tell you.

Oh yes, the fun hasn’t stopped, but finally after 2 months, the smell in the landing did. The boiler was on the brink (where you flip the switch and it’s a surprise if the hot water works), and will require a further £2000 to replace at least, but it sort of keeps on soldering on at the moment. The windows were, shall we say, attempting to escape for freedom and again will require further attention after some minor repair work was done. Hell, the local authority had to be begged for them to actually take my money to pay for the rental part of the property! When has anyone had to have been begged to take money from you?

Only after a few months has it been possible to sit down truly and hammer out what has transpired during the time since the last time we sat down by the digital fire and discussed anything which occurred in the life of Riley. The main part of this learning experience is that you should expect lies, treachery and deceit from everyone and everything. It doesn’t go smooth and there is always a surprise you will find after the deal is done. Home ownership, even just part home ownership long term is worth it, short term, you will die inside.

#Hellisotherpeople

Anger photo by Jessica Flavin from London area, England (Anger Controlls Him) [CC-BY-2.0], via Wikimedia Commons