Paddington bear

I feel like slinging my possessions into a little gingham red and white blanket, tying them onto a stick and heading over to Paddington with a sign saying,

"Please find me somewhere to live. Preferably a split level, period conversion with a two equally sized bedrooms and a garden or roof terrace, oh and I don't mind marmalade from time to time either"

Today myself and Lindsey have spent the day traipsing around North London trying to find somewhere to live. As is turns out we were right in thinking our budget does not stretch to any of the nice areas we were hoping to live and so we're going to live in the Victoria Park area, which although very nice, is tubeless and also perilously close to the sister-in-law, AKA, the alchofrolic.

We did come across some amusing instances of sensationalist tales from rival estate agents. After leaving Foxtons, the Nike of the Lettings world, we stumbled into a small family owned letting agent who told us cautionary stories about Foxtons 'liking to place their clients in crack dens', being unscrupulous and immoral. I imagine there's a lot of truth in this, well the immoral bit at least, but that said, we're also being driven around for a whole day tomorrow by a Foxtons bird who's showing us everything on her books for our price range. If we don't like them she gets nothing, so we don't lose out. If she finds us something we have to hand over the £360 fee plus VAT....extortionate.

Anyway, all this flat hunting is exhausting business, and whilst I'm on Maldivian time, I'm seriously struggling to even consider any kind of socialising at all. Last night Dan came over for dinner and I was snoozing in the bath at 9pm whilst everyone else was eating their puddings. It's rubbish. And to rub it in, my glam friend Linds is off to the Observer Food Awards with Gordon Ramsey this evening and is as I type, getting glammed up and ready for the free bar.

So by tomorrow evening maybe things will be different, we might have found a flat, I might be feeling less jetlegged and spaced/weird. I hope so. I can barely string two words together. Soon I'll be back to my sparkling self. Promise. For now I'm going to eat dinner, drag my heavy arse back to Clapham and into the arms of my man, because its times like these, only a big warm squeezy cuddle is going to work.