This week, I have been mostly putting off packing up my shit for the impending move of house to lovely shiny Rathmines. I did have fun procrastinating though, attending an extras casting for The Tudors with the Bear (who looks so much the part already I was surprised they didn't create a character for him on the spot and give him his own tavern to run), getting sunburned in the Botanic Gardens while making daisy chains and resurrecting my addiction to cheesy breadsticks from Lidl (try them, go on, I dare you not to finish the box in one sitting. And dunked in Philadelphia? Dear GOD it's like cheesey crunchy heroin.) But the move is nigh, and so the house has mostly been looking like this of late:
Behold the sitting room and my room. Yes, that is a garden gnome. His name is Gerald. So I'm blaming the prior house hunt and subsequent packing for my shameful neglect of the blog lately. Also I was busy working my mad haggling skillz on the letting agent after viewing our new house. A decent house in Rathmines with two bathrooms and three double bedrooms for €1400 a month was pretty good but we reckoned we could chance an aul haggle. But only after I rang my Dad to find out what the hell to say, naturally. And so unfolds a dramatic reconstruction:
Me: Hi, Letting Agent Man (names have been changed), we really like the house and we'd be very interested in taking it. The thing is, we've been looking at places in that area around the €1200 mark, and really that's what would suit us at the moment.
Him: Hmm, okay.
Me: So do you think you could put it to your client?
Him: I'll have to give him a call, I'll get back to you at 2.15.
3.00 rolls around. I've probably called Dad again in the meantime to cover what I should say for every possible outcome.
Him: Right, I've spoken to the landlord and the lowest he's willing to go is €1300.
Me: (In my head: CHA CHING! Fecking deadly!) Okay, I see. Well I'll have to talk to the other girls and I'll give you a call back.
Hooray! So we took it and now myself and Tcup are moving in with our lovely friend Marzipan and everything's going to be so great in lovely Rathmines, not least because there's a deadly bakery around the corner from the house that sell proper fancy buns with mad coloured icing. I think every day will be Cake Day for a while. Or at least until I end up spending all my dole money on cupcakes. SWEET.
Oh and this is my box o'DVDs. Seeing as I'm a nosy bint, I thought some other nosy people might like to try to make out what movies are in the bosca. There's no porn there though.