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I haven’t had much time to write lately because I've been busy systematically destroying my own future, you know typical college dilemmas and general maturing-in-life complications. Therefore if you clicked on this link hoping for a round of apologies you will be disappointed.

This post intends to focus on my latest series of unfortunate events that dominated September. Three weeks ago today my landlord informed me that I was to be booted out of my current address and in my unwavering quest to find fault with everything I encounter, I spent the days leading up to what will forever be known as "thee eviction" searching for as many reasons as possible to be miserable. I successfully discovered an excuse to be unhappy with everything and anything – the poor timing of the impending move, the difficulty I was set to experience in finding a new place, and indirect reports of sloppy first year students coming in and destroying what once was my home.

But I was wrong, none of the above actually proved too troublesome in the end, well unless there actually is first years dwelling in my former address and stinking it out. It was never revealed to me who/what my replacement was.

It was something that preceded the move that upset me and caused all the stress.

My eviction is the nearest thing I'll ever get to being a Big Brother contestant.

It was a cleaner. The landlord hired a cleaner unbeknownst to me. He could easily have asked me to do it, it was my home after all and I was still residing in the property at the time. But no, he obviously assumed I was some descendent of the swine family and a professional was required to disinfect and spruce up the place so that it would be once again fit for human settlement.

The cleaner unprofessionally arrived one early morning when I was still in bed. I woke up in shock to the sound of a hoover being used in the hallway and the discovery that my bedroom door had been opened. There was two instant presumptions: I had burglars and they wanted to clean up first to soften the blow that all my belongings were due to become the subject of theft or they wanted to steal my hoover but used it first to ensure it was still functioning. It never crossed my mind that someone would be so ignorant to just involuntarily enter another person's home without any real approval or authorization.

Beforehand I foolishly assumed it was going to be carbon copy of that maid Consuela off Family Guy, some quiet elderly female with little English. I wasn't even close, it was a middle-aged man wearing overalls and supporting various visible tattoos, he was dressed like a home fumigation was due to take place. It was hard not to be weary. Maybe the landlord believed I was living in such crummy conditions that there had to be rats and cockroaches squatting here too? Had he hired a pest control technician to get rid of me?

The sad thing is I am a neat and tidy person, the apartment is immaculate, my ex-house mates kept the place spick-and-span too, there's more dust on a fuckin' Starburst than there is in the entire flat. The cleaner however was messy. In some weird, twisted logic I actually found myself cleaning up after him. He would buy lunch from the local shop and abandon the wrappers on the kitchen counter for me to pick up, he frequently used the toilet without flushing it and left all his used dirty cloths throughout the place.

I went out one night and ended up buying Chinese food. In my delirious drunken state of mind I decided it was a good idea to leave it for breakfast. The next morning I didn't have enough time to have it before work, I came home that evening to find it half-eaten. Not fully devoured but still sampled. Did he find it too spicy to finish it off? Or maybe he just enjoys tampering with people's food? Maybe fiddling with it was all part of some sick fetish of his?

It really wasn't a great few days. I might have finally lost what's left of my sanity.