Homelessness. Not my first rodeo but it has been a while.
I moved into the cabin, a converted bee aviary in early 2018. It has been home for 4.5-years.
On the 30th of October 2022 I advised my landlady that I was involved in the Royal Commission into Defence & Veteran Suicides.
A week later I was told to leave.
It wasn’t much. No hot running water and no immediate toilet or shower facilities (under the main house, quite the walk in the middle of winter I must tell you). As you can see from the above text there were no problems with my landlady in the previous four and a half years. For what it was worth, it was home.
J* might be looking at more rent and thinks a bloke who stood on a wall for a bit might not be a good option (I wasn’t asked). More likely she is worried about her sketchy son who moved in about two years back and his mates getting up to no good. Her son loved stealing my mower fuel or taxing the odd thing out of the barn that took his fancy.
Whatever the reason, the thing that changed her mind was the Royal Commission.
So, my home for four and a half years is gone.
Anyways, my whole family comes over to help me. The five of us spend the best part of three hours cleaning and tidying up (it’s one room). Literally, my cabin is the tidiest part of the property (as the owner and the kids are filthy) and I’ve hardly been there over the past year. When the clean is done I even buy her a VB ‘tallie’ and leave it in the fridge to say no hard feelings.
Later on the same evening I get a text from J* saying there were things she was not happy with and implying she was going to withhold the bond. Minor stuff but I’ve seen her do it to another tenant. I told her to keep her bond. I’m done dealing with evil people.
I suppose the point I’m trying to make is that even 25-years later my service costs me. Everyday. Sometimes in small ways and then you get days like this.
Joy. Homeless again…