My friends have been trying to sell their flat. They want to escape from the area where the dream job isn't any more.
They want to leave the big beefy man upstairs who tried to oblige them to carpet their lovely hardwood living room and bangs on the floor if they so much as turn a CD on, or if their baby cries.
They'd quite like to not see him sunbathing in a thong on the front lawn any more either.
This is how they discovered the clause in their leasehold that says they can't let the property out. So selling has been all.
And as we all know, it ain't apparent right now.
So they accepted the one offer they've had.
Which was rock bottom the lowest they could go.
Some of you, who have seen cookies crumble before, might be able to discern where i'm taking this.
Yes, after 6 weeks of surveys and the funny pack thing that our government make house sellers produce and the green-ness evidence and all that, she called to say 'Drop the price 10 grand or i'll back out'.
Did I mention that my friend's job might be made redundant at christmas when her company moves a massive train fare from this albatross of a flat.
So they've agreed.
10,000 down the toilet.
That's one heck of a hit.
Evidently, the llamas won't care next week.
But it puts my mithering in perspective.
i'm going to cook some rather fine fajetas.
And wonder about people's ethics.
I realise that my moral stand is from time to time prone on the floor.
But I don't think I could profiteer from someone's misery quite so much.