Sinister: It's your own fault...

[breams plural]

I've just moved into a new flat. Actually the flat is old, but I'm new to 
it. Once the flat and I had been introduced and I had been invited in, I 
started started to wonder about the nature of relationships with flats.

When one is in a relationship with a person (preferably human), I'm sure 
there are some rules written somewhere (these may be the infamous "unwritten 
rules" from which many quotes are taken but proof never found of their 
validity...yes Helen...that means you) telling of minimum times of 
singledomb between stints and when in a relationship to discuss with your 
opposite number the concept of love. If only boys would stop and ask for 
directions, then perhaps these rules might just be uncovered someday.

As for flats, I feel that similar rules apply. surely there must be some 
sort of bond formed between a person and the dwellings that support them in 
times of need (or sleep, whichever comes first). For instance, is it 
possible to have a one night stand with a flat? Would that infact be a one 
week stand? What if "things just aren't working out between us"? Is there a 
minimum time that one should wait before shacking up with another abode? I 
see a niche market for real estate therapists. Helping people overcome 
difficulties they have in their relationship with their abode.

Thankfully though, places of residence rarely stoop to the same lows that 
are often reached by others. For example, when was the last time you were 
chatted up by a drunken, sleazy flat? And how many times have you heard the 
sweet sounds of break-up lines such as "It's not you, it's me..."?

Oh well, maybe I should  find myself a nice single bedsit, then get married 
and settle down with a family home.

I suppose I could now discuss the links between renting out your house to 
pimping out your daughter (not that I have experience in either), but that's 
another story for another day.

Jeremy

ps. for those of you that replied to my last feeble post with 
encouragement...it's your own fault.

pps. for those that wish they hadn't replied to my last feeble post with 
encouragement...it's not my fault.

ppps. I read The Basic Eight this week and it made me want to die. But I did 
like it lots too.

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