timelord, landlord

It seems that I am set to move in with Dave - or possibly into a lock-up garage round the back, one of the two. I was briefly distracted, however, by the appearance of what was described as 'a large Victorian room' on Rightmove. It would almost be worth it, I thought, just to be able to utter the phrase: 'I live in a Large Victorian Room'.

I would feel obliged to acquire a matching lifestyle - a pipe and a manservant, at the very least. It's a houseshare though, and it's difficult to sustain that sort of thing when you have to share a toilet with (shudder) other people. So I suppose it's the lock-up garage for me. Unless the room really is large, like the Tardis. (Is there a toilet in the Tardis? I can only suppose that there must be.) Perhaps the room really is Victorian, and you travel back a century when you step over the threshold - that certainly beats a tatty Hill Street Blues poster. Maybe I could travel through space and time in my Large Victorian Room, solving mysteries. At the very least, this would look good on my intranet profile at work.

I don't seem to be able to edit my intranet profile at the moment, mind you. My hobby, it seems, is forever going to be 'teaching chickens to type.' It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it isn't how I would really like to be remembered.