..but very soon, most likely, I won’t be here. I mean here as in, in that garden and in our house, rather than dead.
I love where we live and I love the house we rent. It’s big, spacious, has a great garden and is backs on to a country house with woods, a reservoir, a canal…it’s pretty much idyllic.
We’ve only been here for 18 months but already we are having to move again because the idiot who owns the house has, essentially, fucked off to Dubai with our rent money and not paid his mortgage. Understandably, his bank are now taking action to repossess the house, leaving us homeless.
Since November last year, we have been living with the constant threat of eviction hanging over us, despite diligently paying our rent every month. At the start of it, we literally did not know if we would return from work one day to find the locks changed. He has lied and lied and lied the whole time we’ve been here and now he has disappeared. It has been a very stressful six months.
It turns out that for tenants, whilst I am constantly told we “have rights”, we do not have the right of gaining access to the actual important information – ie, when are we getting turfed out on the street?
To cut a very long story slightly shorter, we were told by the letting agents and the Citizens Advice Bureau that despite the fact that it was going through the courts to evict us, we shouldn’t move out as we could then be held liable for the rent until the end of our contract. Yes, that’s our contract that should already be null and void because the landlord is already breaching half the clauses in it. He’s not even registered as a landlord. Oh, and he still hasn’t fixed the roof that caved in a few weeks after we moved in. So we waited, all the while anxiously expecting news.
Then the letting agents got to the end of their tether and pulled out of managing the property. We have no contact details for the landlord. So, we were now in the ridiculous position of not being able to move house but having no one to pay the rent to. Classic. We’ve decided, however, to cut our losses and before we are actually evicted, just go and we’ll deal with the fallout later. The solicitors for the mortgage company won’t tell us any information about what’s happening. What other choice do we have? At least this way, we can hopefully take our time, find a new place we love and move at our relative leisure.
We have actually found another place nearby which could be even more awesome and we’re now playing the waiting game to find out if we have snagged it. Frustrating. Stressful. Another move on the horizon – I could see it far enough. I’m so outraged by the behaviour of the utter twatwaffle who owns the house, who thinks it is acceptable to move to the other side of the world with his wife and kids and take our money and piss it away on camel rides and shawarmas whilst we fork out a small fortune every month to fund his escapades (oh,yes, I’ve been Twitter stalking him, whilst maintaining a dignified by appalled silence, of course).
I’m heartbroken that the perfect house that we were told we could live in for “as long as you like” is being snatched away from us so soon. I’m also peeved that we could just hang on for a bit and see if we could maybe buy it, but that to do so would likely lead to a nervous breakdown. I’m enraged that the dog will have to move to another new home, his 4th (that we know of) in as many years. He already gets anxious when we move furniture around or pack stuff away, so it’s going to be a stressful time for him, too.
Mostly though, I’m just sad. I really don’t want to move but I have no choice but to pack everything up and start again. So, Spring might have sprung finally, but in my heart, it’s raining. BOO HOO.
Whilst I love every single comment on the blog, please don’t post any well-meaning links to Shelter, etc, it’s too depressing.
I’m blogging every day in May as part of BEDM. Find out more here.