dorum rambles on

I can't wait! No, really, I mean that, I CAN'T BLOODY WAIT!

04:12, 13 April 2007 .. Link

PARENTAL ADVISORY: What the fuck are you doing letting children read my blog? Have you lost your cunting mind?

Well, readers, it seems I have lost my Zen-like calm. This may please some of you, as you seem to like it when I get all red-faced and sweary. That's fine. You're probably going to hell anyway.

The things is, you see, I may have mentioned this before: patience is not my strongest point. I do not have a degree in waiting from the university of Stuttgart. I'm all about instant gratification. I eat my dessert before dinner (this is not just a figure of speech - I did this very thing only yesterday). I have tantrums like a five-year-old if I am made to wait for anything. I'll pay extra to avoid the agony of waiting for stuff (next day delivery £400 extra? Sign me up).

So it should have been obvious to anyone that buying a house would be a trying thing for me to attempt. So I had to go one better. I had to go and buy a house in the slowest fucking country in the world.

For those of you not familiar with the intricacies of buying a house in England, you usually end up involving the following parties: the buyer, the vendor, the estate agents, buyer's solicitor, vendor's solicitor, buyer's mortgage provider.
Bear in mind, this is a very SIMPLE constellation, as there is no upward or downward chain involved.

Now imagine the people above trying to communicate with each other. Guess how they do that in this day and age? Surely via email? No? Maybe a bit behind the times - telephone and fax perhaps? Oh, no. This is England, don't you know. All communication happens via LETTER. That's right - letter. So that slows us down fairly fucking much.

Another delightful part of buying a house here, is the "searches" that have to take place. My favourite is the "mining search". Because we live in a part of England which is all old coal mines etc., and we are moving to an old mining village to boot, we have to pay for our solicitor to undertake a mining search, to check that there isn't an old mineshaft under the house or summat. Makes sense, you might think, but I have news for you: IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY FUCKEN SENSE AT ALL!

Allow me to elaborate: the house we are buying was built in 2002. A mining search must have been performed before they could even build the fecking thing. Then the current owner bought it, I believe in 2005. He would then have had to perform yet another mining search (I believe the cost of them is something like £175 or so, for pressing a button on a computer). And now we have to do one. Bless this land of the bureaucrats.

In short: I'm getting a little impatient, can I please just have my fucking house now, you bunch of stealing, lying, slow-moving, irritating cuntdribblingcockspasticbastardgraaarrrgh!

*adjusts hair and make-up after massive snot-bubbly benny*
I feel better now.

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dorum rambles on

I can't wait! No, really, I mean that, I CAN'T BLOODY WAIT!

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