No, the time has come again for me to pack my knapsack with all my worldly possessions and mosey off into the sunset. Another year's lease expired, another change of postcode. I make it that this will be my 15th different address since leaving home at the age of 18 - any wonder I can't get any credit. That may or may not have much more to do with my rubbish financial acumen, but I'm willing to believe it's purely because I'm the residential equivalent of a ninja - as soon as you think you know where I live, I'm gone... The longest I've stayed in one place was 15 months, which ironically was also the shittest place I've lived, seeing as my room was about the size of a shoebox and the guy that lived behind me liked to take out his frustrations by hurling dinner plates out of the window.
But as of Saturday I'm off again, although this time it's to the pleasant suburban delights of West Dulwich (or thereabouts). No longer will I reside in "edgy" and "up and coming" Brixton - after four years I am moving to a more genteel environment with a garden and a conservatory. And a feckin massive bedroom, given that it is supposed to be the living room (as demonstrated by Craig in the picture). It might not be for very long due to the expiry of the lease on the house in November and uncertainty over who's doing what afterwards, so I may find myself on house number 16 before much longer. I also have to buy a bed which is a bit of an expense, but then I suppose it's the kind of thing I'm always likely to find useful.I'm supposed to be packing at the moment but can't quite motivate myself. Oh, and I'm supposed to be buying the aforementioned bed. And booking a van to move me to South East London and J to Portsmouth (sniff). I might start tomorrow.
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