I bought a poky wee apartment yesterday, redeemed on all counts by its proximity to one of Melbourne's finest mid-century subterranean public toilets, its pink bathtub, and the fact that it is (in auctioneer's parlance) "literally a stone's throw from the 86 tram". If I were the government, I'd be cracking down on the realty-vending sector for its constant encitement to dangerous stone-throwing in areas of high public utility. Anyway, you'd want to have a pretty big catapult.
I'm trying not to let the sheer exhilaration of contracting a six-figure debt go to my head, so will do my best not to go on too much about my ascension into the ranks of the landed gentry (technically not so much the landed gentry, as the block-of-aired gentry, since I bought on the second storey). But if I can't help myself, please be patient. It'll pass in time, along with my obsessive search for the perfect wallpaper and an uncracked pink toilet bowl.
Meanwhile, what about those auctioneers, eh? They're like 1920s quack doctoring entrepreneurs as envisaged through the eyes of Hollywood. Amazing creatures. Their hair unguents alone could lubricate an entire naval flotilla.
20 comments:
Hey, congratulations! Well done, on all counts! It's not every day that you contract a six-figure debt AND a case of pinkus bathyspheritis.
Auctioneers and real estate agents. Hmph. Should you fail in every way that a human being is able to in the single life it has to lead, be it financially, emotionally, mentally, physically (or any combination of the aforementioned) fear not, for you can still become a real estate agent.
Tempted to give the green light to the previously tabled Project Paint-One-Entire-Wall-a-Charming-Shade-of-Mayan-Turquoise (human sacrifices optional)?
Congratulations! It is a very big and bold step to set down one's roots so firmly. Baron indeed!
As for real estate agents, my mother once worked at a certain educational institution where real estate agents were trained and there was a big kerfuffle at one point because they swapped notes and realised that they were all sleeping with each other (teachers included). But I do know a woman who is a very nice real estate agent, so one mustn't generalise.
Generalisations are good. I like them. They enable me to make a target and a straw man out of just about anything. Do not take away my generalisations, for I would surely die. Without them, I would have to invent admiralisations and corporalisms, lieutenantites and post-colonelialism.
Oh no, that was more for myself, as I felt it was maybe a little inappropriate of me to repeat that story.
Admiralisations sound promising though- and they remind me of Hornblower!
Congratulations. Please let me know if this is how one gets the official document that states that on is now a proper grown up. I've always wanted to know when that occurs and how to avoid it.
"All Admiralisations are dangerous, even this one." - some old fellow.
Admiralisations are admirable, especially the sort such as Hornblower who sail on the Specific Ocean, or the Pacific Notion, or whatever it is they call it nowadays.
And now I will repeat myself repeating myself repeating myself and offer congratulations yet again. Congratulations without sternutations! Your purchase has second-floored me!
An admiralisation is something a junipr officer might develop for a superior, all too prone to vanish upon the horizon of a Specific Ocean or a Pacific Notion indeed.
I imagine the house warming party will be a thing to behold for all Melburnians. And here's your song for the day.
Mmm, delicious juniper officer. Does he come with berries?
Thanks, folks. I dunno if I really deserve congratulations. It's just a slightly more complex and expensive variant on buying a new toothbrush. This wouldn't have happened in Sydney, though, that's fur shore.
As for the certification of grown-upitude, I had a twenty year old student last year who took to missing tutorials because she had to do an extra day at work in order to accommodate the effects of interest rate rises on her mortgage - and she was a baby - and I was not impressed.
Mayan Turquoise is go. Human sacrifices, not sufficient room.
No, Baron, it is a big decision and worthy of applause. And in Sydney it all depends on how many hours a day one is willing to spend on the train, although hours on the train can vary and sometimes they're quite involuntary.
It sounds like they have a very enterprising breed of student down south. That interest rate excuse is an unexpected and a golden one. No doubt it will become more common in coming years. The closest I've ever had was "I have been unable to attend the first month of lectures and tutorials because I was moving house. Do you have transcripts and/or audio recordings of *all* of them?".
A juniper officer is always served with berries and seasoned to taste, yes. Although thinking about "The Juniper Tree"...
(If Herren Train and Kingsley were to combine their powers, I shudder to think of the fate of the world!).
Hey, how did you know my mum's name?!??? ;)
I'm greatly taken with this house=toothbrush equivalence, and would go so far as to theorise that, with the right fittings, paintings, wall coverings, and piping, you could actually use a house in place of a toothbrush.
After all, if a house can shelter you and everything you own, give you hot and cold water, gas, and electricity, why can't it clean your teeth?
I'd settle for a house that will make me a nice cup of tea when I'm tired.
Do you mean me? Now I have another uncomfortable moment of not getting the joke- twice in one week here! My mother's name is Janette, which I've always liked. My father's name was Dennis, which is not a name of which many are fond, but I like it too.
I suspect Doctor Who's compatriot (y'know, the Timlord, oh ho ho ho) over there meant the Herren bit, but it's just a guess. He could, for instance, be quite mad. Mad, I tell you. MAD. AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HA. HA. Ah. Haaaaaa. Oh, Igor, wait until they see, until they see the Doomsday Device I have wrought, BUILT FROM THE VERY STUFF OF NIGHTMARES, IGOR. Let them SHUN ME NOW.
Ahem. Sorry. Terrible cough I've picked up. Absolutely ghastly.
I like the toothbrush purchase analogy. However, it breaks down at one important point: I have never seen a toothbrush bearing a plaque inscribed "Dunflossin" or similar.
Which leads one to enquire: what will you have etched upon the sign outside the new baronial seat?
Yes, I realised he probably meant that later, in my dopey, delayed-reaction way.
I strongly suspect there will be a push from certain quarters to make stone-throwing an official competitive sport, thus cultivating an ever-broadening coverage of “within a stone's throw”. After all, it's easier to expand the definition than to a move a train station or tram stop closer to a realtor's point of reference.
Congratulations on your change in status and credit rating!
A colleague once suggested that you get the grown-up certificate when you buy your first new fridge. If that's so I am still a juvenile.
Alas, Lucy, my fridge did not come with a certificate of adulthood nor has one arrived subsequently. It did have an awesome box though.
That's an excellent question, Anon. What to call my new estate. "Harlot's Rest"?
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