casa

I can't keep it to myself any longer.

My balls fallopians might explode and cause a cataclysmic series of events that shift the Earth's axis, much like Japan - except it would be my fallopian tubes not a country - if I don't express myself.

The Brit's offer for our house has been accepted.

We might just have a home.

The irony is the moment I started looking at places to rent, the most amazing flat popped up out of the blue. The Brit's now-astute property knowledge had us a deal in less than 24 hours.

Christ on a Christmas tree I am so excited. We sat in the park opposite the flat and watched the sun hit the balcony, and then checked out the local pub around the corner. It's a gorgeous little street, not far from where I live now, but on the good side. Literally on the right side of the tracks, in Wandsworth.

I can nest!

I also:
1) Don't have to hear chavs called Wayne fight outside my window every weekend
2) I can buy that purple greyhound for the front hall (the Brit has given me permission. How awesome is that?)
3) We can live alone without any other annoying people.
4) We can [formally] move in together. The Brit and I informally live together at the moment. We stay at each other's houses for prolonged periods of time. It's not ideal.

Frankly, I am delighted.