The house that the folks were trying to buy to get me out of their home has sold.
I didn’t know that they’d actually put an offer in but I have been hoping against hope that they would.
But dad came in this evening and said that someone’s offer has been accepted. Bugga.
I have to hope that now he has his mind on finding something he’ll start to look for another. Just a tiny flat, studio even would be amazing. Especially if like the other place it needs some work doing, that way I could earn a bit, save the folks a bit, keep out of mischief, and create the pad that I want to live in.
He just dropped it into conversation as if it was of no consequence at all, but I could see mum knew how much it disappointed me.
Well, it’s not as if I can do much about it now. I can’t even think about moving into a rented place unless I get a job. I must pull my finger out, and after all, something crap will do, just a McDonald’s perhaps – I wonder if you get to take home everything that hasn’t sold at the end of the day? Dad keeps banging on at me about a call centre job so that at least there’s the hope that if I’m any good I could work at getting a supervisory role quite quickly.
Is that cool? Working in a call centre?
Well I guess that just about anything is more cool than having no job and no money and so having to always turn down stuff.
Maybe, just maybe I ought to do something about it.
But the house sold? That’s a gutter.
Blimey, I’m knackered.
I haven’t done much in days, I’ve been writing for a friend, helping them pull together a website and putting their words into something that makes their little business make a little more sense.
I did a bit of driving for dad. He had a client who needed to be picked up from London and brought up north for the afternoon, to have a meeting, be wined and dined, and then driven back. That was great as I got to take dad’s FD’s Range Rover Vogue. I have never even sat in such a brilliant car before, and there I was getting to drive it hundreds of miles, with the fuel paid for, and get paid myself.
While they were in the restaurant I had a sleep stretched out on the back seat. Good job it wasn’t cold, so I could leave the windows open a bit, I didn’t want it smelly in there from my parping, or even breathing.
And dad gave my a hundred quid for my efforts, and another twenty to get lunch (I don’t know how much he thinks McDonald’s costs theses days!).
The fellow was some sort of marketing guru who is going to do some work for their business and I enjoyed his company. He was telling me to watch out for some ad that’s coming on soon for Volvo Trucks with Jeanne Claude Van Damme, apparently JC will do some crazy splits stunt while standing on two trucks. I’ll be watching out for that, I like Van Damme, he’s so over the top I think he’s cool.
But OK, so I did a big drive, but that doesn’t explain why I’m wiped out several days later.
I reckon a couple hours of Rugby League will be about as active as I’m going to get today. Perhaps I’ll stretch to a bit of hard core cricket too. And save my pennies by not going out.
OK. I made a big mistake by referring to my possible route to freedom and my own roof over my head as a stinking little hole.
I realised the potential and immediately started to work on it.
From both a selfish perspective of trying to guarantee a decent roof over my head, and from dad’s and mum’s side of things looking to work out how to get them the best outcome should they decide to go ahead on the place.
I have looked at it’s rentable value – about £550 a month. That’s not much and wouldn’t make sense if you were borrowing the money, but in the other hand it’s a much better return than dad will be getting with the money just sitting in the bank as it is now. So it certainly makes sense for him if he can rent it, but maybe it doesn’t make so much sense just to get me out of the house.
However if I was there for eight months to a year rent free, and then he rented it, but with me doing a few jobs during that time it would be brilliant. He’d only need pay for materials and save a hundred and fifty quid or more day on labour.
Trouble is I know he won’t tell me if he puts in an offer, not until it gets accepted, and that means that I’ll have to be super decent nice son for bloody ages! I think I should be able to pull that off when the potential reward is so significant. I’m even beginning to like the look of the house…it does still stink though.
I know I haven’t exactly made my fortune either gaming or speculating on the Foreign Exchange (forex) markets as yet, but I do think I need to get out of the parents house.
I think mum quite likes having me here, but I know it gets on Dad’s nerves and he’s keen to have me move on. He came home last night with details of a house for sale down the road that he thinks the owners might be desperate to sell on as the old lady who lived there has died, and the children are all squabbling over who gets the money when it goes. Trouble is it has been on the market for a year or more and so dad thinks he can get a good price.
There’s a reason for that though. It’s a pig ugly and very smelly house!
Just look at the thing.
I thought it was horrible, but then I got to thinking about how cool it would be to have my own place, no matter what it looked like from the outside. Now suddenly it has a whole new gloss to it.
I think the old man wants to buy it, let me live there rent free for a while, and then once I’m in work I can either rent from him, or he’ll rent it privately.
I’m so hoping mum supports the idea. I’d absolutely love to move out and even if I have to do all the decorating and perhaps a few repairs I don’t really care, it will keep me busy and maybe I could get a few mates around to help. Blimey I feel more motivated than I have in ages. Come on dad!