Let Down.

This is going to be a rant-y post.

We'll consider that fair warning. If you choose to read onwards of this point, well, you do so at your own risk.

I've been let down. And I'm really pissed off and disappointed about it. I suppose that I should give you a little of the premise before I start complaining about my friend. Here goes:

Lizbean is a friend from my first university. We get along famously. We made friends in the back of the university transport bus after a shift in Bully's (one of the shops we both worked for) while discussing blow-job techniques. We've been fast friends since that very day, and although we sometimes "differ" and have tense conversations, we've never actually fought. Not that I can remember, anyway.

Two years ago we went on holiday together, with five other people. There was myself, Lizbean, Ali, Riann, Zara, Ian and VJ. Lizbean was friends with Ali, who was friends with Zara and Ian. Riann is Zara's little sister. VJ was my friend from uni. That's how we all came together. Well, everyone fought. VJ left early (mostly due to her mother being unwell, but other things too) in the most extreme case. Lizbean and I didn't. We haven't seen each other since we parted at Rome airport, although we talk often.

A few weeks ago, we planned a weekend away to Amsterdam. She is coming here on Thursday, and then we're taking the ferry to Holland on Friday. We have a few hours in Amsterdam on Saturday before we re-board the ship and arrive home on Sunday. Originally Lizbean would stay with me for another night, but she's actually going to go straight from the ferry to the train to return to Bournemouth, because she has a shift at work on Monday and a lecture she can't miss.

The trip is really cheap. We got it for £56/each on lastminute.com. We've both been looking forward to it for ages, and it was going to remain cheap because a friend of mine at work also works for one of the train companies. That is, Prancer. She's a Train Manager, and she can get tickets at 75% off. She offered me this option before the trip to Amsterdam was even a twinkle in my eye. When Lizbean and I first came up with it, I asked Prancer whether she could arrange for Lizbean to have these 75% off tickets because without that discount, it would be prohibitively expensive for her (and for me, because I would obviously pay for half of her travel).

Prancer said, "no problem." Her actual words. Weeks ago. More than a month. For days now I have been trying to get in contact with her. I have texted her -- and she always replies to texts -- and have received no reply. She's out-and-out avoiding me. I have a shift with her tomorrow night. It's from five o'clock til half-past-eight, and we always do that shift together; every week. It's our shift. Every single member of the FoH team knows that on Tuesday evenings, Prancer and 'Ren get together and they clean a single gallery from top to toe.

I just have this feeling that she's not going to turn up. Now, we have an agreement that if one week, one of us can't do it, we're to let the other know. So I'm either going to get a text from her half way through the day, or she's just not going to turn up.

The problem is, Prancer is trying to earn as much money as she can at the moment. Her boyfriend is Peruvian and has gone back there for five months. She's planning to go and see him half way through his visit, in January, for a month. She's saving to pay for her flight. If she doesn't turn up, she will be missing out on 3.5 x £8.68 (£30ish). That might sound like only thirty quid, but for three hours of cleaning glass and hoovering, it's a good deal. Especially when you literally live in the street behind the museum as Prancer does, and don't have to pay any travel costs.

So she may turn up. And if she does, it's going to be awkward as hell. I'm going to be annoyed at her for ignoring me, and she's either going to be a) "I don't see what the big deal is," b) "Sorry, ----excuse----," or c) "I don't owe you anything, why are you being snappy!"

Well, I disagree. As my friend, she owes me honesty. And common decency. The least she could have done was tell me there was a problem, so that Lizbean and I could have budgeted for this. As it stands, I'm going to have to take an extended lunch break tomorrow, losing wages, and pay £85 directly into Lizbean's bank account, so that we know she can at least afford to get here.

If Prancer turns up, and if she can still get the discounted tickets, she will have to go and get them herself while I'm at work on Wednesday, and post them to Lizbean for me. And then it will be like she's doing me a massive favour when really she's only pulling me out of a hole which I'm only in because she let me down!

Grrrrrr!!!!!!

Growing Up.

So, it seems as though I'm growing up. I'm not convinced that it's been a conscious choice, but -- all the same -- it's been happening lately. The biggest step is that I'm in the midst of preparing to move out of my family home and in with my hairier half.

Shh, shh... stop telling me that it's about time. God damn, I know that. I've had everyone telling me for ages, and it's nearly always the first thing someone says to me when I tell them the news.

Yes, we've been together five years. Yes, we've been engaged for three almost. What's your point?

Be quiet and let me tell you about my new flat while I listen to Hey There Delilah, the song that plagued my 2007.

A few weeks ago, the boyfriend asked me whether I felt ready to move in with him yet. I've been saying no for the past two years, trying to put it off. I'm not sure why. I think mostly it's because I wouldn't have been financially independent, and I would've felt as though I owed him something. That's not the case any more. I'm earning plenty. Certainly enough to pay for my own keep, although to be fair, he is paying most of the up-front costs. So far.

We started looking, and we committed the ultimate property sin...we fell in love with the first place we saw. It's in Monkseaton, which is a dormitory town for the city of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and it's a two bedroom flat in a new-build apartment block. I say "new build," really it's been there for four years or so. It was being built when Peter and I started seeing each other, when he still lived in Monkseaton himself.

I don't think he's realised it yet -- and if he hasn't, I'm waiting until we've moved in to tell him so -- but the window of our front room will literally look over the exact spot where he first told me that he loved me. The fact that that spot is in a back alley is beside the point; it's romantic, damn it!

Now, the photographs I have to show you are the ones taken from the Lettings Agency website. Fortunately, I saved them before the advertisement was removed upon our payment of deposit. Rather retardedly, I forgot to take a camera with me when we went viewing, so I have no photographs of the bedrooms. Nevertheless, we shall soldier on with what we have.

The photo above is our living room. It's rather more large than it looks, and we've ordered two brown leather sofas from IKEA. A two-seater and a three-seater. I'll happily admit that they're not the most beautiful sofas around, but they'll suit us just fine. It's our first home. We like them. That's good enough, no? We've also purchased an amusing picture that we're not supposed to hang on the wall, and a cream rug to try and force a coffee and cream colour scheme onto a cream and green-ish room. We still need to find a coffee table, TV stand and TV big enough for a front room, but to be quite honest, those things can wait.

Our kitchen is actually a part of the living room. This row of counters runs parallel to the wall of the photo above that shows a pair of French windows. It's one big room. I think this was the major selling point of the flat for Hairy and I. We just loved it, and could completely envision ourselves living in it. Now, the colouring is a bit... y'know, y'know? I'm not sure I like the look of all of that wood. But it's tolerable. And it's neat and tidy, shiftily hiding a huge fridge-freezer on the right, a washing machine, a tumble dryer and a dish washer in amongst the cabinets.

We've bought a few bits and pieces for the kitchen, like a toaster, a kettle, a corkscrew (that's important, you know)... I still have glasses and plates and cutlery and such from my time in Reading, so that's already taken care of. I have my one-person cafetiere... and I think that's all I care about in there.

The two bedrooms I don't have photos of. They're both good sizes, and will fit double beds. Or king-sizes, in our case. (We're quite fat, you know. ;) ) We have Pete's bed from home which Jan has very kindly donated to the cause. That's a double wooden frame which is mildly knackered from energetic bonking, although she thinks that it's because Hairy stood on it to change a light bulb. Apparently. Personally, I think that she's too savvy to fall for that, but never mind. If it makes Pete happy. Anyway, that's going in the spare room. It's going to be a tight fit, but fortunately the bed doesn't have a footboard, only a headboard. It may be a case of guests having to crawl up the bed and get in and out from the bottom. Not the best, but... meh. That's how it is.

Earlier today we bought a silentnight king-size divan for ourselves. We wangled free delivery and got £100 (almost) knocked off it, so I'm very pleased about that. It ended up costing us about £400 for the base which is sprung itself, and the mattress. That's a good deal, peoples!

We've got the wardrobe from Pete's room, too, which will be going in the spare room also. (There's more than enough room for plenty of furniture, it's just that the room is a little bit narrow, hence the having to clamber up the bed to get into it.) It's going in there because I don't like it. His computer desk is going to be going in there, too, and he seems to think his fishing and golf gear will be also. I have other ideas, and those unsightly horrid things are going to be crammed into one of the hallway cupboards (of which there are two) or got rid of.

I'm yet to convince him of the importance of buying a few bookcases, but he will come around to the idea when he sees how many books I'm bringing with me. That is, all of them. I was talking about this with him today and he asked me why I was bringing them -- was I ever going to read them again? His amazement at my "of course" answer confounded me, until I discovered that he doesn't keep books. He reads and throws away. I cannot describe the look of horror that must have struck my face at that point, but he chuckled quietly to himself. I think that was step one won on my behalf in bookcasegate.

Our bathroom is rather small. Compact, you might say. To the right of the photograph is the toilet. All three are in a row there. There's a nice heated towel-rail about where the picture-taker is standing, beside the door. Meh. It'll do, right? Two people. I bought a mirror to go above the sink there in that little alcove, and I'm excited about getting it all together. I was working hard on getting towels to match the colour scheme when Jan butted in and bought us some red and blue towels. They're...okay. They'll do the job, and I'm going to sound incredibly ungrateful, but they're very, very bright. It's a muted bathroom. Jan bought them "to brighten it up." Well, guess what, Jan? I don't want it brightened up. Brightened up will be tasteless. I like it the way it is.

I'm now fighting a losing battle with Pete about my still looking for ones that match. He thinks I'm wasting money. I agree a little bit, but also, I don't. I want my house to be nice. I think things like that matter. But, he's right... I mean, now, we have some towels. So it can wait. But she and he can go shove the towels where the sun doesn't shine if they think I'm sticking with them. Still, if giving up on towelgate wins me bookcasegate, I'll happily go along with that.

I know that sounds like whining. I'm really not as ungrateful as it sounds. I'm just... I can whine here. It's a safe outlet.

So there we have it. That's my new flat. The rent will be £490/month, inclusive of building fees, secure parking and water rates. We will have Council Tax and electricity to pay for. There's no gas to the apartment.

I'm excited.