Victorianitas

I can accept your decision to kick me out and sell my flat. It is, after all, your flat, to sell or not as you like. I can also accept your decision to announce this three days after telling me I could stay for an extra six months. Plans change; things happen.

I can accept your urgency to sell the flat as soon as is humanly possible, and the starry-eyed optimism with which you are now loping after the housing market. The effect of this is that the next few weeks of my life are going to be dotted with estate agents and viewers, who'll need access to my flat at all times, and that you're expecting me to keep the flat in 'showable' condition during those weeks. Mostly I can accept this because I know it won't be happening - you aren't bringing anyone round without giving me the 24 hours notice I'm legally entitled to ask for, for one thing, and for another the flat is going to look rather chaotic for the next few weeks, what with boxes and suitcases everywhere. Because I have to pack. Because you are kicking me out. See how this works? Ner. Anyway, I can rise above my grievances and accept the situation (mostly).

I can accept that your offer to 'make up for the inconvenience' by offering me reduced rent for the extra month you wanted me to stay was - how to put this generously? - something of a bribe, since some rent is better than no rent. I conclude this based on the fact that when I replied to you to say, hey, thanks, but I need to be out by the end of April because of the lease on my next flat which I was very lucky to find at this notice by the way, I won't be able to take you up on that offer, so instead, will you maybe let me store some boxes and cases here for a few days rent-free after I leave, just so that I don't have to do the whole move in an entire afternoon? - your answer was no. Thanks! But I accept this, anyway, since it's not like I have much choice.

And I can accept that when you came round to fix a worryingly huge crack in the ceiling yesterday - the kind of crack that is spreading day by day and is now edging down the wall, might I add - you did it by Polyfilla-ing over it in a really obvious way. I would not accept this if I was still going to be living here when the ceiling fell in, but I won't be, so, hey, your ceiling, your problem.

However.

However.

While you were here, you ate the last of my cheese biscuits. The cheese biscuits I desperately needed at 2am when I was still up writing a lecture. And that I couldn't have. Because you ate them.

And with this, a line has been drawn.