A Change of Scenery

I’ve found it a bit silly that I’m paying for this blog page and not actually using it. Blimey, it’s been some time since I last posted anything.

So yes, the time of my tenancy in this gorgeous house of 19 The Walk, Roath, Cardiff is coming to an end in just one week’s time. Do I regret it? Yes, I’ll miss this place. I love my bedroom with its mantlepiece and window and space. I love the feel of this place as it’s become a proper home to me.

So why move, John??

In a word: Finances. Oh, and in another word: Fucking-Housemates-Who-Don’t-Pay-Bills-And-Council-Tax-When-They-Should. Ok, that’s obviously several words, but I felt it had to be put out there.

Seriously though, the shit I’ve had to put up with; people using electric heaters on full blast 24/7, people bickering about the cost of bills, and the mess… the MESS! In all honesty, everyone in this house knows that if it wasn’t for ME taking responsibility by sorting and sharing all the bills, contacting all the energy and tax and internet providers, then this place would have gone to the dogs.

What I hate about this place IS all that responsibility – having only MY name on the accounts – to have to chase people for money, only to have them walk over me or pretend they don’t understand my language. And the people who are on fucking benefits! God, I detest them. “I don’t have to pay council tax because they’re paying it for me.” NO THEY’RE FUCKING NOT! THEY’RE ONLY PAYING A SMALL PORTION OF IT FOR YOU, AND YOU HAVE TO PAY THE REST! And yes, they’re making ME pay it instead. Well not for long. I’m Out of here and I’m going to set myself free!

The council tax for this place has been extortionate. And after we had one housemate do a runner, the whole council tax system just went to hell. We’ve had summons and reminders and deadlines galore. Course, the council don’t give iota about who’s share is what. They just want the money.

My housing agent, Umbrella Homes, had a rather ‘clever’ and interesting idea of how to sort it all. They basically told me to lie to the council, to my face, and tell them I was living at home with my parents elsewhere, so that they’d think the house was only occupied by students.

Clever? Hell no!

For one thing, if the council FOUND OUT I’d been living there illegally they would come down on me like a ton of bricks and throw my ass in jail. For another, they’d know who was living there because they KNOW I’m registered with UMBRELLA HOMES – who I no longer trust as far as I can throw them. Landlords who change their minds at the last minute, who don’t give you warning that they’re giving a house viewing.

Oh, and just to dip the biscuit further, our foreign housemate, who’s suddenly on benefits, is screwing one of the guys from the housing company. Goodness knows what other benefits she’s getting from them. She’s on benefits, can’t pay bills much on time and yet she still has money to go to the gym in Cardiff. I’m working a full time job and I can’t even afford it at the moment.

*breathes and relaxes*

So you see what gets my gut up about this place.

And the fact that people don’t wash things up after they’ve used it –  the crockery, the dishes, left on the side for days and days. And NOBODY TAKES THE BINS OUT! NOBODY actually RECYCLES properly – seriously, the times I’ve seen food in the big recycle bag and not in the food bin. It really does get on my tits. There’s no organisation at all, except for mine.

OOOOOOH but yes, that’s one thing I CERTAINLY look forward to! When I move out, I’m going to TAKE DOWN each and EVERY poster I’ve stuck up on the kitchen/living room wall about the NPOWER account, the WATER account and INTERNET. I will take GREAT pleasure in leaving these flat headed lazy numbskulls in the dark and to their own fate. See, this is what happens when you always rely on someone else to do all the paper work – you end up lacking the experience.

Of course not all the housemates have been tossers. There have been a few genuinely nice people here too. If it hadn’t been for Yohannes and Naveen and others, I’d have gone mad in this place. Sensible, trustworthy gentlemen. The world needs more of them.

Originally the plan was that I move to a new place with a group of housemates – Yohannes and the Romanian girls. But my finances are well and truly fucked at the moment so I’ve had to pull out of that option.

I was going to move home and commute back and forth on the train to work, but then fate landed me with a very good friend and his friend who invited me to live with them. A cheaper place than I could even dream of, with all bills included, brilliant housemates and NO NEED TO PAY COUNCIL TAX at all!! It’s a dream come true!

I move there at the end of this month. And the great thing is by Christmas time, I will be OUT of my overdraft and into the clear!! This is something I’ve fought for for years.

At last, things are looking up 🙂

Preferences
§
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
0
=
Backspace
Tab
q
w
e
r
t
y
u
i
o
p
[
]
Return
capslock
a
s
d
f
g
h
j
k
l
;
\
shift
`
z
x
c
v
b
n
m
,
.
/
shift
English
alt
alt
Preferences

The Diary of Andras: Extract 1 (GRIM: A TALE OF DEATH)

I’ve been bonding with Andras for most of today – the character I’m playing in our upcoming Web Series: ‘GRIM: A TALE OF DEATH’. Andras is one of the Grim Reapers, who’s job is to reap souls. I’ve even started his diary – he keeps a notebook on him with his memories and notes. Had to shed a tear at this one though. Was listening to the ‘ALAN WAKE’ soundtrack and came across the track called ‘Departure’.

This is a memory I created for Andras the Reaper:

I recall one soul that I had to reap. A little girl, no older than five. She was dying in a hospital ward, on christmas eve. Her name was Madeline Macurry. A pretty little thing. So young. Deep blue eyes.

She thought I looked like her uncle Matthew. I said I knew him, having reaped his soul some months prior. Liver cancer – he was a heavy smoker during his life. Although what she didn’t know was that he was an un-convicted pedophile and had committed several acts of rape and abuse to other younger people. I had to send his soul to the underworld, to the very gates of Oblivion. I still remember his plead-full cries and begs of forgiveness.

But that wasn’t where young Madeline was going. Such a sweet little girl of five. A mere nanosecond of life, compared to the lifetime of my own people. This young thing would never grow up to become a doctor or a teacher or even a mother of her own. She would never have to worry about bills or experience the love of a husband. She would remain young forever, in a happier place.

And there she was, sitting in a hospital bed, in her pink flowery pyjamas, holding on to a little stuffed bear. The doctors were unable to cure her stomach sickness.

I smiled down at her, warmly.

“Can teddy come too?” she asked in her innocent little voice.
“Of course he can.” I smiled.

I couldn’t tell her the truth, that teddy bears have no soul. Poor young child.