A knock on the door at 8.35 this morning in the middle of that stressy bubble known as "about to leave the house for the school run"
It was the Housing Association's housing officer. My son opened the door.
"I thought you were coming at 9.30," I said. "I'm about to take him to school."
He said the housing association could try and offer us one of their properties if I continued to refuse the private rental sector.
"Where?" I asked, because I do have to be open to this shit with that bloody possession notice hanging over our heads.
Not walking distance to school. After my bids on those local flats yesterday the desire to stay in this vicinity is stronger than ever.
"When the lease runs out, what then?" I continued.
"Don't think about that now," was his answer.
After six years you'd think that all housing officials would know that all I ever do is think, I can't stop myself thinking, I think myself into black holes, I think myself into dreams for my child. Think, think, think. Think, think, think about everything. I want to stop thinking about housing.
A real bloody challenge for me, as any follower of this blog knows.....