So I bought a flat...

...Or, y'know, so it seems.

It's quite surreal, really. Months ago (back in February?), this process started with me putting in an offer on this single-bedroom, second floor flat. Things happened in the background (though, thankfully, none of those things were the vendor moving a tenant in) and yesterday, after a last-minute glitch, I received a phone call from the Estate Agent to the effect that everything was OK, and I could pick up the keys whenever I wanted.

This was something like 4.30pm, about four and a half hours after the usual time for such matters.

The 'last-minute glitch' was that the accountant for the vendor's solicitor went home at lunchtime and didn't tell anyone that the transaction was complete.

Classy, huh?

I'd like to be able to say that the accounts people at the company I work for are better, and wouldn't do something so stupid... but I know that's not true. These are the people that don't pay our temps unless we kick up a fuss. These are the people who don't process bonuses for several months. Who knows what other things they get up to. Or don't get up to.

So anyway, yes, I am now a property owner. And in my brief visit to the flat yesterday, I found some post for the previous occupant - one of which was from a 'certificated baliff', according to the envelope.

With this sort of thing, it wasn't long till my father shared with me the cheery thought that, if the previous occupant had kept a set of keys, they'd be able to pop back and take the furniture they'd left behind (and, stupidly, tried to get me to buy the day before completion).

That is, of course, something I had considered. When buying a new property, it is always prudent to change the locks... but it's not necessarily something you want one of your parents to say - loudly and publicly - when you've only had the keys to the place for about 45 minutes.

I am hoping to be off to the London Film and Comic Con today... just waiting on a phone call. More later, I'd imagine...