I had the unfortunate experience of flat-hunting today. Any kind of moving-house type activity is stressful at the best of times. I don’t own a lot of things, I can afford somewhere ok, and I am not moving very far from my current flat. But I found today’s excursion particularly bleak. I am arranging to move to another property up the nicer end of town, which is a very positive thing. But the difficulty is, that I am looking for another one-bedroom apartment. I walked up to the property in my lunch break. It is on a nice road, but it is a very long way up that road. So I felt like I had walked forever to get there. The area was quiet, which is a good thing generally when you’re flat-hunting, but it was rather too quiet, and made me feel like I had arrived at the end of the world. The apartment itself is in the huge attic of a Victorian building. Shabby, but beautiful, with huge windows and all the original period features. The paint peeling off the newer mail boxes on the front of the building. I saw a horrible future stretching ahead of me, as an attic-dwelling spinster, miles from anyone. Will I still be there in a hundred years time?