Found a new place to live and moving in next week. No garden or parking but it has got a tiny little terrace which could just about handle a bite size BBQ so a big improvement on the Dad flat, which has had its day.

Kids helped me pack (at least when I managed to tear them away from the prime time delights of Dr Who, I'd Do Anything & Britain's Got Talent, guilty pleasures all) and we deflated the wretched inflatable beds for hopefully the last time.

So, moving out and moving on up. Think maybe the drugs do work or maybe the prospect of iminent eviction got me back on track. Either way I now

First to the GP to try and establish why the anti-depressants have been making me feel more more caffinated than a branch of Costa Coffee. Seems I am one of the unlucky few who react this way, and I have some new sweeties to try along with another sick note for work.

Then I trawl some letting agents, which is like going to estate agents but with really cheap carpets. Not sure why I bothered as everything's on the net these days but it gets me out of the flat. I arrange a couple of viewings for the following day then decide to walk across town to check out the locations. It buckets down and I

So after 14 months my accomodation looks set to change.  My rented Dad flat is about to go on the market, seems my landlord is spooked by the collapse of the buy to let market and iminent property crash.  Obviously reads the same weekend papers as I do.  I tried a bit of schadenfraude but then I remembered the marital home has yet to be sold. D'oh!

Anyway I do want to move on. I'm desparate for a garden or at least a patio or terrace for the summer so that I can kick a ball around with the kids and have a BBQ.

But first I have to get better as there's the small matter of returning to work, and