Despite the fact that I have, in writing, an agreement to a move in date of 21st October and a contract that states ‘the property will be professionally cleaned prior to the commencement of new tenancy’ I arrived on Friday night and the place looked like a student had just rolled out of it. And a bloody messy student at that. When it got to 4pm on Saturday afternoon (the 22nd, a whole 24 hours after I’d gotten the keys) I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. There were new lifeforms evolving in the fridge, a forest load of fungus in the bathroom and dead cat smell in my hall way.

Thank fuck for parents.

Ma’ and Pa’ Cortez showed up on Saturday with Pa’s enormous work van, ready to transport my life. They loaded up, convinced me (after some very tense conversations with the twatty estate agent) to just suck it up and get on with it, and move all my stuff in anyway, and THEN, upon the arrival of Twinkle’s mum who came armed with a steam cleaner, these parental MIRACLE workers proceeded to gut the place.

I think Ma’ Cortez might be a little bit in love with that steam cleaner. I could see her on the verge of stuffing it up her jumper.

Cut to another 24 hours later and FINALLY Twinkle and I are unpacking our lives, with SATC on the biggest widescreen TV you have ever seen (thank you Twinkle’s Army Ex – you were good for something at least) and Irish round for the first visit christening Big Joe with half a bottle of red (Big Joe, Cougar Town – google it. We found him at the back of a kitchen cupboard.)

I swear, Pa’ was on the verge of regrouting the bloody bathroom himself, and Twinkle (whose gross, stained, rented bed was supposed to be removed before we moved in so she could put up her own one… surprise surprise, it wasn’t) had taken the thing to pieces and dumped it outside, but not before ringing the estate agent and leaving a message telling him it’d be outside his office in the morning with a post it note stuck to it.

It was so dramatic that it almost wasn’t worth it, but then, before 10pm (I know), I crawled into my new king size bed with my new king size bedding in my new king size room, with the dulcet tones of Stephen Fry on iPlayer in the background (yes – I have INTERNET connection now. Spotify works and everything!) and slightly sloshed from much wine and manual labour, and I thought to myself… Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Introducing… Castle Cortez. Long may Ritzi reign.

This experience has also taught me that I’m going to have to find a man like my dad. Or next time I move I will be buggered. I wonder if Almost Famous knows how to regrout a bathroom?

RitziCx