You know how when you decide to get divorced from your husband and then move to another country leaving your son and your cats and all your stuff and then get taken for a ride by assorted ex-pats in your new location with everyone expecting something for nothing and people persistently lying to you and not paying you for months on end and after five weeks of living in a tiny studio in the Old Town in Antibes in a building in which the Hunchback of Notre Dame would have laid his head had he been the Hunchback of Antibes rather than Notre Dame you find a really nice place in Nice near the sea but the owner who offered you the rental contract sells the place the day before you move into it despite having told you he’d taken it off the market and your landlord in Antibes had naturally assumed you were moving out when you told her you were and so had already let the place you had been staying in to someone else so technically you’re homeless and have to rely on the generosity of people you’ve only known for a few weeks to take you in before finding a great apartment which – it subsequently becomes apparent – is owned by The Hysterical Italian Landlady From Hell and you have no money for long periods on end and then your tenant stops paying the rent in the apartment you own and you’re trying to get him out so you can put the place on the market and have some fucking dosh for once and you just know he’s going to renege on the contract regularly now until he leaves and you get a fab very well-paid job as a creative copywriter for a film company based in Monaco but it turns out the woman you’re working for is A COMPLETE AND TOTAL SHOUTY NUTCASE WHO HAS BEEN BLACKLISTED IN HOLLYWOOD so you leave after two days and move back to the UK where you find the place you were going to rent has been given to someone else the night before but then discover a lovely large unfurnished recently re-decorated flat in a beautiful part of town and move in with all your stuff being delivered at great expense from wherever it had been stored but the designer sofa can’t get through the door and since it can’t be taken anywhere else by the removal firm that day has to spend the night outdoors and so loses all re-sale value resulting in you giving it away for nothing on an internet site thus requiring you to buy a new one which when putting it together leads to you doing your back in and then discovering two weeks later when the paint smell has gone – despite assurances to the contrary by the landlord – that the property has rising damp so your asthma comes back in a major way and the washing takes three days to dry and everything smells musty and the landlord becomes tricky and you have to search for a new (unfurnished) place and cancel the direct debits you’ve set up with all the utilities companies and pack everything up again and fit in writing articles and searching for more work…you know how, when this happens, you almost get a little as if you’re losing the will to live?

Well, I’m nearly getting to that place now.   For some reason.


About notniceetoile

I'm a freelance comedy writer, now living in Brighton after a few years in London, having relocated back to the UK in 2011 after a couple of years of adventures on the Cote D'Azur. Check out my blog about life in Nice:- and my political satire blog:- Available for weddings (3 to date) and barmitzvahs (0 - I'm a girl, duh).

Posted on May 26, 2011, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. Livingindurham

    Please don’t, how will I ever laugh again?

  2. You could always have a chuckle at my gravestone: At last Not Nice Etoile has finally found somewhere to stay long term…

  3. Welcome home-ish…

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