Princess Palace

I have finally moved out of the house.  Yeaaaaaahhhhh!!!!  I now feel like the cat that got the cream.  My landlord sorted out, quite possibly, the poshest room I have ever seen (for a tenner).  The best part about it is that it’s all mine!!!!  I have a mahousive bed (with clean sheets) and my own ensuite shower room.  Get me!  I feel like a princess.  I’m tempted never to leave it (well until I get hungry or need a beer).

My landlord has been super helpful but I feel that his intentions may not be entirely honourable.  He tells me that I am the most beautiful and most interesting person he has had staying in his homestay for the last 7 years.  This is blatantly a massive lie as I look like a bag of shite.  I am wearing orange elephant pants for fuck sake.  As for being interesting, he must be easily pleased as all I’ve done is moan my arse off.  He offered me to stay in his (one bedroom) house (free of charge).  Hmm, let me think about.  NO!! 

He was born with a deformity so only has 1 finger and a thumb on one hand.  I completely forgot this earlier, when he was telling me about his various businesses, and said it sounds like you have your fingers in lots of pies.  Doh!!  Taxi for Breed. 

So the plan is now to chill out and relax for a couple of days (not chillax, as anyone who says that needs punching straight in the face).  I am then going to make my way up to Goa and see how much trouble I can get in there.  I am booking a sleeper train this time to avoid any wanton or wayward toes!!   Wish me luck. 

Pictures attached of my princess palace.  Nice, eh?