Well, Fatso may be disillusioned with show business but not as disillusioned as I am about bloody houses.
Go to see one, don't we, last Saturday. Fall in love with it. And i mean head over heels, loss of appetite, everything. Husband too. Puts in an offer. They say No, higher offer been made. They contact us again. Could you "up it" slightly? Husband goes in there today to see one of their wiz-kid mortgage brokers. Enormously high mortgage. I tell him to say Frack off. He tells me to borrow money off my mother. My newly widowed, will-benefiting mother. I still say Frack off. There's cheaper houses.
How did i get into this? Less than a week ago, I was blissfully unaware of enticing houses, my only worry being how to taunt Fatso. Now, I feel the world is on my shoulders. How the Frack do i ask my Mum for money? I mean she's lent me money for fags before and that.... but this is so much more sinister.
When our offer was initially turned down, we went to see another house to lift our spirits. Well, it did in a perverse sort of way. What a load of old shit! £412,000 for some mid-terraced 50's house - all open plan and a recording studio upstairs! - those poor neighbours! You can build up in the loft, the estate agent says cheerfully. Oh I mean, thats alright then isn't it. I was worried there!
I mean does the Credit Crunch not apply to Twickenham then? They're still free to take the piss house-wise?
Estate agents emailed another house to us. Looked lovely. A chalet style thing with lots of character and room inside. Husband said he wouldn't dream of living in that "shit area".
He can be such a snob sometimes.