Eviction!

It has been some time since my last post, and I apologise. My life has been cast into uproar. John has posted a remarkably prescient comment, which is so close to the mark that I suspect a conspiracy. You see the thing is that the Habitat was put on the market during my absence. No bastard told me. I have yet to be consulted. There has been an unconscionable lack of disclosure about this issue, and I am not fucking happy!

Apparently there was another inspection while I was gone, this time with the addition of some sort of property valuing type of person. This person then said a very large number to the Landlord (may he die choking on his own semen), who replied: "Sell the fucker."

This of course happened in my absence. And in the presence of The Flatmate. She was apparently smoking in the kitchen during this exchange, which is strictly contrary to the terms of the lease. Christ.

So the Landlord (may he suffer rape and pestilence) cancels the lease in writing, pisses and moans and complains in that letter about "cohabitation" and "signatories to the lease", kicks out the Flatmate and uses a very considerable chunk of my bond money to clean up her filth. This was bad, but one item on the clean up bill included "cleaning smoke damage from all walls".

This incensed me. What fucking smoke damage? It is simply there because he saw the Flatmate smoking in the kitchen. Was it not the irrepressible Bricktop who once posed the following magniloquence: "Do you know what Nemesis means? A righteous infliction of retribution, manifested by an appropriate agent." That bitch has a Nemesis now. Personified by an 'orrible cunt. Me. I'm going after her now. It is too much. I'm going to hire a fucking bounty hunter!

So when I returned to the Habitat, I found it empty. No Flatmate. I found a bunch of correspondence from the Landlord (may he discover his real father is a goat), explaining that the place must be vacated in 14 days. Another that explained that unless I got my shit out of there fast, it would all be sold. Another one the same as that, giving another 7 days. And a note from the Flatmate giving a bogus address to contact her in the case of any static about the Habitat.

You can imagine that, can't you? Standing in the empty, but admittedly very clean Habitat, with all my possessions (inclusive of a very sick Spathy) in a pile on the kitchen floor hopelessly clutching a letter evicting me and simultaneously robbing me of almost a grand. Welcome home. How was your trip? Dispossessed, dislodged, despondent. Exiled and expelled. Forced out and fucked off. Ejected and dejected.

So I've moved to the Capital. I have two flatmates now; a couple. A graphic designer and some sort of IT consultant who earns a fearsome amount of money. We live in a great place, close to the river. The new place is filled with happy, shiny toys. There is an air of exuberant optimism, almost glee.

And although everything seems fine now, I have already seen the IT consultant drinking my beer. This is a source of rage and aggravation. Thou shalt not drink my beer. We shall see. I'm watching you, motherfucker...