House hunting is one of my least favourite things to do in life. Once you make up a list of places available you have to spend hours trapsing from one place to another and then once you get there you are confronted by the house of your dreams or absolute hell…with fungus on top.
I find the whole process of meeting your possible cohabitants worse than going to a job interview because you have to try and get those already living in the house to like you enough to forget all the other lost souls, and you have 10 minutes to do it in. Thankfully, I’m living in a nice home with some good people…but one of them has decided to pack his bags and head home to Australia.
Cue the putting together of an advert and posting it on daft.ie and then the flood of phone calls from people eager to see the room. I spent Wednesday night meeting prospective housemates and showing them around our mid-terrace Georgian house. They came in all sizes and nationalities. Some spoke well but were boring others spoke almost no English. They were all smiles and praise for the room (some weren’t so impressed with our kitchen/living room) but nobody fitted in with the laid-back atmosphere – so the hunt continues.
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