Fuckola. That’s this evening wasted.

I will now explain the reasons behind my rage.

I have been put in charge of finding a replacement for one of my flatmates who is moving out at the end of September. I have drawn the short straw if you will. It’s OK though, I will have a large input into who the chosen one shall be – hopefully a young, attractive, Leeds United supporting female who will drive me to Elland Road every weekend.

I registered the room on a website and have since received a lot of feedback, mostly from students. Can they not read? The advert clearly stated “Professionals only”. Those professionals who were interested were rounded down into acceptable flatmates. E.g. no old people (aged 35+), no chavs and certainly no individuals going by the name of O.B. Laden enquiring if there are any dark places to hide in the flat.

One possible flatmate was due to come this evening. Professional. Female. Early 20’s. After she bombarded my mailbox and left message on my answer phone, I thought she was at least slightly interested in the room, I therefore asked if she would like to look round this evening. She agreed.

I went out my way to get things ready for her. I tidied the flat (probably for the first time since moving in), ensured I had dinner early and rushed back home in time to show her around. She never turned up. At around 10pm I was called so say she had found somewhere else.

Fair enough if she found another flat, but it would have been nice to know earlier. Never mind, I still have her mobile telephone number. If I am feeling really, really mean I will use it in TradeIt, 1 week before Christmas, advertising a PlayStation 3 for only £100. Hahaha.

Of course, I am only joking. Or are I?