I won’t lie. I’m a worrywart and an overreactor. So despite a calm facade, I was harbouring fears in the back of my mind that we would end up homeless and living in a tent.
Thankfully, it’s not to be. T and I are moving to Epsom, of all places (one of the most affluent suburbs in the city) to a cute little ground floor apartment at the bottom of a mansion. Yes, the one with the super awkward kitchen I tweeted about.
We don’t have to pay rent for our last week here, so we’re moving at the end of the week (and will probably come back to sort out loose ends/clean at some point). The place we’re moving to is vacant and the landlord wanted someone to move in ASAP, so that worked out rather well.
Things with our new home did NOT get off to a good start, however. I called the LL to tell him we were keen. He didn’t remember us.
Then we got there, and he wanted the bond in cash. I’ve never come across that before – normally you sign the paperwork and arrange to pay the bond plus any advance rent through bank deposit (and get irritating calls from them until the money finally goes through two days later, because they’re always with a different bank entirely).
So off we go to find an ATM. We end up in Newmarket, 10 minutes later, and race to the nearest cash machine. It rejects my card.
Around the corner, we find one of my bank’s ATMs. I jump out of the car, he screeches away and loops around the block while this ATM tells me that my PIN number is wrong. Even though it’s not. Three tries later and I’m locked out of my account. And if that wasn’t already awesome enough, it SWALLOWS MY CARD to boot. Bye bye all hopes of withdrawing cash.
That was Saturday, and I still can’t laugh about it yet.
(ETA: Yes, he did write us a receipt for the money!)