Bleak House

As lovely as our hostel is, we decided that we couldn't stay there forever and should probably find our own place before C starts Uni. On our way into town for breakfast we picked up some listings from an agency. Over breakfast (delicious smashed avo on toast and Americanos) we pored over the list and arranged some viewings for noon.

The first set of viewings looked promising from the outside: standard new-ish high-rise, centrally located, and potential for a good view. From the off, the prospects sharply diminished, as the bored-out-of-his-head agent took us to the first apartment. The feng-shui could not have been worse.

A dimly-lit, narrow corridor led us to a room more fitting for the cramped conditions of a third-class living quarters on a cruise ship of the early 1900s. The bedrooms consisted of moth-eaten, worn-out mattresses, narrowly surrounded by peeling walls, with one cupboard which would strain under the weight of a hanger.

The living room was marginally better, with cigarette-hole-ridden sofas, which the home-owner refused to replace, and a TV-set the Antiques Roadshow could have got tuppence ha'penny for. No more than one person could move through the doors at a time, leading to a ridiculous kissing-gate affair, made even more so by the fact the bathroom could only be viewed when the bedroom door was closed. The tumble dryer was hoisted upside-down on top of the washing machine, suspended by duct tape and the good grace of god. In short, the architects have a lot to answer for.

Trepidatiously, we made our way to the next viewing which was in the same block. One of the other people also viewing the flats had mysteriously vanished. The next flat was slightly less terrible, but only slightly. By the time we made it to the third viewing, G politely made a very British apology about getting deja-vu, and we hurriedly excused ourselves.

Recovering from our harrowing experience at a local (and delicious) Lebanese cafe, we quickly decided that if we were to find a place that we like, a change of criteria would be necessary. To that end, we began to search anew, scouring "Trade Me" (a popular NZ trading site) for potential flatmates willing to accept us, the bears and the uke. The quest continues.