Feb 13th

Alright, I like to day dream. Sometimes a lot. Sometimes my day dreams are harmless, most times they end up with me being disappointed. See it all just happens so fast in my head. The poor bastard has no time to catch up.

The latest day dream? I'll arrive in the UK and the escapades with the ManHunk will pick up where they left off and I'll enjoy the rest of my visa time there in butterfly bliss. He, of course, will spend the next year with a lovely /feisty /adventurous  lady on his arm. Namely me.

Despite the fact that jokingly he mentioned he would be an international play boy by easter. Fat chance. We all know men lie about these things. Right? What ever, my defense? I don't care.

There was a point here....

I am trying to find a place to live that isn't where I work. Live in pub jobs just aren't that great, especially if they come with their very own squatter and resident crazy grounds keeper who insists on leading people to believe he has some type of authority by wearing a business shirt to water the flowers. Crazy bastard. I know, I've been on the receiving end.

So I get an email about a house share. She's an older lady with a cat (you know, this could be handy, get some pointers perhaps?) and a spare double room only 3 miles from where I'll be working. But I can't inspect it when she wants me to, namely because I wont be in the country. So she sends me a lovely reply "If it's still empty by the 13th, I'll let you know".

Do you think she would have been so snotty had I said the truth about my arrival date? Seriously, who wants to be in transit for 24 hours and then go and check a house out? I want to have breakfast with my girlfriend, have a shower and  then go to the pub for lunch and a bottle of white wine. I'm just asking for it aren't I? Maybe I don't want it bad enough, either way, today the day dream seems a little further out of reach then the usual impossible.