As many of you know, I’ve been given the arse from my rental property in Melbourne and we need to evacuate Chateau Far Kew. Bum. With two dogs, two kids and a husband to ship off to pastures new, it’s no easy feat. But before any of that relocation bullshit begins, we need to find new digs.
We’ve spent the last four weekends in the car driving around trying to figure out the real estate landscape to rent or buy down here. And it ain’t pretty. Actually, much of it is very pretty, just nothing we can afford.
Making things even harder are the bullshit real estate lies that are designed to get punters in, before the awful truth smacks them in the kisser. Terms like “Tropical Oasis” seem out of place in the middle of the frigid Melbournian winter, but, you know, fuck it. If you’ve got a 2x2m patch of Astro turf for your dog to piss on and a potted plant on your balcony, you may as well try your luck.
In the areas we’ve been looking in “Endless Possibilities” basically means there is a mafia graveyard underneath the bedroom floor and STCA means “Subject To Cops Arrival”. “Steps to transport” means the RSL mini van stops outside the front door and “In A Class of Its Own” means there is quite literally nothing like it on the planet. For good reason.
Don’t assume your kids are going to find this divorce-inducing exercise fun either. You’d better be armed with an endless supply of high value snacks in the car, or the little fuckers will make you pay. We stayed for an auction just to see what the environment was like, and let’s just say we tested the limits of the hoardes of Chinese investors. Whilst their little angels stayed silent, ours tried to ride the owners kids bikes in the driveway, yelled right at the critical moment of the hammer slam and the little one bit my hand when I tried to muffle his shrieks. Shaking him up and down vigorously over the back fence was clearly not enough.
One place we inspected was a brand new townhouse that nobody has ever lived in. So imagine my horror when I turned around to find my almost-four-year-old on the can in the ensuite with her pants around her ankles whilst other potential buyers peeked their heads around the corner. The shame.
Fuck You, House Hunting. Fuck your ridiculous cliches that nobody fucking buys. You and I know know full well that “Updated Bathroom” means 4 ply bog roll and a new towel. “Classic Charmer” means it smells like grandmas adult diapers and “Bring your imagination” means the neighbours are ice addicts. Fuck your 15-30 min time slots meaning you’ve got to break the sound barrier in between inspections to cram them all in and fuck the smarmy Real Estate agents that are trained to speak with one eyebrow raised at all times. We’ll see the suit brigade again tomorrow. Assholes.
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