Three Little Deadlines made me decide that a home was not at all an essential part of moving to Glasgow. The first thing to cross my path would do. A room in a house I'd never seen with a guy I'd never met in a suburb of Glasgow I'd never heard of crossed my path so I moved in. Not bad: the suburb is not one of Glasgow's infamous areas but is actually pretty, the connection to work is straightforward (my commute has already shrunk by 50%), the house-mate is indeed an 'agreeable 29 year old male professional' as promised. He cleans, he's orderly, he's not noisy, he's friendly, he's social, he works for a children's charity - he's the ideal housemate. If only I hadn't outgrown the very concept of housemate. (Ok, and if only I could always understand what he says). Therefore, exit deadlines enter house hunt. The response rate to my responses to ads suggests Glaswegians offer flats without actually wanting to let them. I nevertheless...
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