Somewhere else

I still don’t know what to do about the Maynard Gardens squat.

Lee and I have to cough up £90/find a guarantor or the electricity to the second and third floors will be cut off. Is it worth staying on there . . ? It seems like capitulation, giving up the house to the Philip Street mob, and Lee says he’d feel bad about leaving Mr. Coldwater-Hicks with Gav and co. to contend with.

Yet again it seems I’m prey to these hassles just before another term begins. We’ve almost decided to find somewhere new—“we’ll get somewhere else, then,” says Lee, simply—but it won’t be as easy as that.