Funny or Fuckwit

CHEZ BOO INTERNET CAFE: Going to visit a potential house share with strangers is something like a job interview. Only its a job where the only thing you're being judged on his how cool you are and how much beer you do/don't drink. Last night I visited what was, I think, my eighth place. I visited another this afternoon but that was so disastrous it doesn't warrant comment. Anyhow for the one last night I steeled myself in the cold of Second Avenue, Acton, before tentatively knocking and then settling in to rattle off my three or four funniest anecdotes trying to tread the tightrope between funny and fuckwit. My dear readers you, above all people, have probably got the best idea of where I fall along that spectrum.

But last night's place was livable unlike so many others I saw last week. There was the room in the back Clapham ghetto with a pair of Polish sisters - a shoebox room decked out like something one of the Snowtown killers (or victims) would have lived in and views out over the Council Estate Common. Then there was Stockwell which looks so close to Clapham on the map. But then distance isn't simply physical. I've seen a few other places, some nice, some not, but, it seems, I haven't been able to make the right impression. The search, it is safe to say, continues.