Tuesday, 17 September 2013


I had never given the term ‘flathunting’ too much thought until now. ‘Hunting’ is probably the most appropriate word in the English language to really sum up the aggressive nature of looking for a place to live. 
Photo: gbrosseau, Etsy.com
I’ve been seeking my own little haven for a couple of months now. Since moving to a new city for my new job I’ve been living in a room filled with football memorabilia and farts with my boyfriend in his parents’ house. Don’t get me wrong; rent is disgustingly cheap and I get on really well with his family, so I’m by no means hard done by. But I first moved away from home 4 years ago… to be moving back home - into someone else’s home - is more of a fall, than a step backwards.
Starting out my search I was very optimistic. I knew what I liked, what I was looking for, and how much we could spend. As with any city there are some areas better than others. This is important to me, but not as important as say… how big the kitchen is/what the tiles in the bathroom are like/how nice the view is out of the window. Safety isn’t something I immediately think about when I know I’ll have Ewan there with me, but if I don’t feel safe, can it ever really feel like home?

When I think of girls in movies who have moved to some dark dingy city apartment in the hopes of landing their dream job there’s something I find almost endearing about their struggle. Then my mind wanders to Coyote Ugly when Violet’s apartment is broken into and all her cash being stolen from her freezer. Looking at the bigger picture, it all worked out in the end for ol’ Violet – the robbery led to her finding a job, being discovered as a singer and falling in love – but I, on the other hand, can’t sing and am already in love. It’s a lose lose situation for me. I’m just left sitting on the floor of my dingy apartment with no money and an empty freezer.

Hm, maybe the farts aren't so bad.

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