After vewing hundreds of flats I eventually bought my first home in London.
I picked up the keys from the estate agents, after all the monies had been transferred into the various accounts, and walked happily to my new abode, armed with two bags of cleaning stuff, knowing I had all afternoon to clean the place before my London stuff was being delivered, followed by a load more furniture that was coming down from Ossy the next day.
I was so excited.
I got to my flat and turned the key for the first time.
I opened the door and there was the guy who I'd bought the flat off watching the telly, all his furniture in situ, and not a packing crate to be seen.
He'd been forced to sell the marital home after him and his wife had split, so was never that keen on moving, but being my squatter wasn't going to be an option. I sat in the garden whilst he made half arsed attempts to book a van. After an hour or two I was getting more irrate, and informed him I'd be back ar five with a van of my stuff, and two mates, and he'd better be out of there.
I don't know how he managed to pack and move his stuff so quickly, but thankfully he did.
The first thing I did was to have the locks changed...just in case he decided to pop back sometime to watch the telly.
I loved my first flat, and it felt like being on holiday for months, once I had it to myself.
I hope you're as happy in your new home as I was in my little flat.
