The scare stories of a disintegrating housing market are something of an amusement to me; the idea of being part of a generation that does not have to be in huge mortgage debt is something to embrace is it not?
Oh yes, I hear the sighs of disbelief, as you ask yourself what on earth is so appealing about having to live under the thumb of a money grabbing cunt a.k.a landlord, as well as having to share a property with a Recruitment Cunt-sultant named Paul who is masks his O.T.E. failure by drinking copious amounts of cheap lager, while perfecting a husky laugh to impress fat lumpy whores who file their nails and answer calls for a living.
Perhaps the greatest joy of not owning my own property, is that it forces us all to brush up on on pointless tasks like 'small-talk', so we create the social lubrication that is so necessary to maintain the unintelligent life that personifies your average flatmate.
Having to live through the ignominy of stealing someone's milk and the quiet satisfaction of spitting, or in some cases shitting on a flatmate's food makes it all worthwhile.
