My home at the sole of my feet

I am so bloody annoyed! Merely 2 months into 'the' most beautiful house I have ever lived in, and I have been asked by f&*k arse Savills to move out!

When I first walked into the kitchen, I felt like a wee little woman whom have wandered into the some beastly giant's home. The cupboards are high beyond anyone's reach (except for the giant, of course). Although trapped in the underworld of the basement, I have grown to love my nest. The comfort of such a space to call my own! Is a comfort to know the exact of number of steps to the bedroom door from the top of the stairs, or the tiny swirl of my bottom that I must do as I walk across the room to avoid the table in the center of my room. The ability to stop being an explorer of my bedroom, but a confident dweller of a familiar land, in complete darkness.

The homo-erotic statue at the end of the garden, a masterpiece to be admired from the top floor bathroom window. The soft rumbling of the washing machine as it vibrates on the bathroom floor, and kitchen ceiling.

I hate you Savills! and Sally Anne Murphy from the Islington office.