After 13 years on the transfer list, one of the widows upstairs has finally, finally got a flat. Not the three bed she required from all the years ago, but a four bed so her youngest, my son's age, no longer has to share with her.
She told me this morning as we walked to school. I told her I'd bid again on a flat in our block and she whooped: "I didn't tell you did I? I got a flat!" and there we high fived!
Woo she deserves it. Sometimes we sit outside the block with our Nico Teen swapping stories. Hers involved not only the school like mine, but also the police. The council placed her in a B&B for her and her children's safety but so far away she took the risks and stayed here. Still she had no luck bidding, until last week.
She says it's amazing. She says it's huge with a massive back garden. "It has a front one too! I can't believe it!" she said.
I am really genuinely happy for her but if you need any more evidence of what a fecking lottery this game is, this lovely mamma upstairs wasn't first on the list, she was third. "One and Two rejected it," and she beamed a colossal smile.
Why oh why would someone turn down a four bedroom house with a front and back garden??
Well, my guess is location. Location, location, location. It's important to some of us, like me, like this mamma, though we can't be as fussy as them on that channel four programme, you need only see where I am having turned down that flat three years ago and not viewed a front door since.
Well, good for her! I won't tell Tim and Hannah though for they are desperate for the same.