So at the moment I’m furiously flat hunting in London, the reason being I’m moving there permanently as of the 1st September.  A simple job one would initially think?  Well so far, no.  If anything it’s been the most frustrating, irritating and generally unpleasant process I’ve ever had to deal with.  Normally flat hunting I assume is a fairly simple, smooth affair where you find a flat you like, stick a deposit down and move in on the agreed date.  Unfortunately all that changes the minute you use the ‘D’ word.  That’s right, I have dogs.  This makes me a social pariah as far as renting a flat is concerned.  If I’d said I wanted to use it to grow dope and operate a brothel I genuinely think I’d be having an easier time of it.

Now don’t get me wrong, my dogs aren’t little, they are by no means little lapdogs who you wouldn’t even notice.  One is a hyper-neurotic labrador named Bertie and the other is an 11 year old Newfoundland called Monty who at his biggest was 14 stone but now as he’s knocking on could be easily mistaken for a particularly unkempt black rug.  Both are old, dopey, unable to hurt a fly and are very little hassle indeed.

Unfortunately these two bundles of joy (read pain in the bum) are the thing standing between me and domestic bliss in the London area of my choice.  I invariably have one of two things happen to me when I bring this up, if I’m speaking to a letting agent, they either shriek in horror and tell me they aren’t interested in letting to people with dogs.  Or worse still they rub their hands in glee envisioning that I am so desperate that I’ll take that fleapit off their hands that they’ve been trying to let since 1986.  I’ve actually now found out that “it’s not very high spec” means it doesn’t have a kitchen.

Of course if it’s a private landlord that’s a different story, they simply say no.

21 days to go to find a London flat, or small house, that’s not falling down, filled with rising damp or next to a brothel.  All offers of help gratefully received!

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