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and within a day real life has again encroached…

went to look at a new place to live today. i’ve been thinking about it for a couple of weeks now and looking at the place from the outside and longing for it to be lovely inside. they were asking a bit more rent than we’re paying now (which isn’t exactly cheap, although i’m starting to wonder whether we’re actually doing quite well…) but we figured if the place was perfect then neither of us would mind paying a little more. the way i see it (ideally) if you’re renting and you can afford it, you have the choice, right? you ought to be able to say where you want to live and what kind of place you want, right? ideally, if you don’t like a place you should be able to pack up and move somewhere better with a minimum of fuss.

yeah, i know. in what reality does that happen?

anyway, back to my parallel universe just for a sec. we went to look at the lovely house/unit thing. it was advertised as being a 2 bedroom plus study, gorgeousness personified, blah blah. even i am not completely gullible when it comes to real estate speak, so i was expecting it to be a little less than perfect. the place was indeed beautiful. the agent had already told me that there was no dining room so i wasn’t perturbed by that. it was full of light, well-maintained, and felt like somewhere we could call home quite easily.

but as we were walking around i said “isn’t there another room?” and the agent replied “yes, that’s it”, pointing to the large living room. “and the study?” i asked, my heart sinking. she opened a door to reveal what was basically a broom cupboard with two cots in it, which is where the children of the house had been sleeping (the most disturbing thing was it had a deadlock on the outside of the door…was that to lock the children in or keep the bogeyman out?).

so, basically, for $40 more rent per week than we’re paying now for our terrace you get one huge bedroom, one small bedroom, a broom closet, a bathroom and a kitchen. if you have people over to visit, i guess they’ll just have to sit on the bed. if you have people round for dinner you should serve finger food everyone can eat standing up. i suppose you could watch TV in the hall…it was actually quite spacious.

the thing that pissed me off is why can’t people be honest? why couldn’t the owners say, okay, we’ve got a lovely one bedroom apartment here that someone will pay good money for, instead of blatantly lying about it? why are they so greedy that they have to squeeze every possible cent out of a place instead of being fair? why are they keeping their children in a broom cupboard? why did the agent ask us to take off our shoes because the carpets had just been shampooed when the place had floorboards and a rug? why am i so disappointed at missing the opportunity to be ripped off by a couple of yuppies?

i do love our little glebe house, and now i appreciate it even more. i’m going to go home and take photos of all the things that are wrong with it (like the mould, like the paint peeling off the walls, like bamboo growing up through the skirting boards) and then if the agent does something about it we won’t have to move. because for what we can afford to pay, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to get anything as decent in this ridiculous, property-obsessed city.