It's Only Temporary Read Free

month’s rent would be required.
    I calculated that this would be approximately three hundred and ninety one pounds. This could potentially cause me a slight difficulty as I had spent every penny I had on my summer trip to Egypt. My account currently showed a balance of two pounds seventeen pence. However PCM was an open invite to negotiate this and assure the landlord of my qualities as prospective tenant.
    Mother of God! What are you supposed to do, sell a kidney? PCM apparently stood for per calendar month so the young man at the letting agents informed me. As the rent was payable in advance I would have needed nine thousand four hundred pounds to be able to move in.
    I looked at several other properties that were in less salubrious areas but there was nothing I could even remotely afford. A sense of hopelessness descended over me and I realised I really only had two options, my parents or the housing office.
    I rationalised it was a case of better the devil you know than the one you don’t and with an air of despondency I called my parents, my mother answered on the fourth ring.
    ‘Hello luscious Linda here, what can I do you for?’
    Oh kill me now, I thought to myself.
    ‘Hello Mother, its Marcus.’
    ‘Marky! Quick Rob , its Marky on the phone!’
    She had always called me “Marky” and I had always detested it, at least they did not christen me that. I could hear my father in the back ground telling her to hang on.
    ‘Marky, I am putting you on speaker phone so your dad can join in.’
    ‘Hey Big Mac! How’s it hanging son?’
    I was regretting this decision already.
    ‘Hi Dad.’
    ‘So Son, to what do we owe the honour?’ my dad continued. He only ever called, me “Son” when he was feeling fatherly. The rest of the time it was “Pal”, “Mate”, “Dude” or the Cringe worthy “Big Mac”.
    ‘Actually I have a bit of a problem.’
    ‘Yeah? What’s up?’
    ‘I was wondering if I could come and stay with you for a bit?’
    There was a pause; it was my mother who broke the silence.
    ‘But it’s the summer Marky. You never visit us in the summer.’
    ‘I know, but I am in a bit of difficulty and was hoping you could put me up?’
    ‘For how long mate? m y dad asked.
    Before I could respond I heard my m other say ‘It’s the Summer Rob!’
    ‘I hope for no longer than six weeks. I am happy to sleep on the sofa.’
    ‘Erm, you see pal the thing is we are not in a cottage. We tend to stay on a campsite during the summer, with the van.’
    “The Van” was my dad’s pride and joy, a VW Camper that was older than I was. He had restored it from the ground up and I had to admit it was in excellent condition.
    ‘Oh, I see. Is there an awning or something?’
    ‘No I am afraid not,’ my mother answered a little too quickly. ‘I am sorry love it just isn’t convenient at the minute.’
    Convenient? Neither was being unemployed and homeless.
    ‘Is something amiss in the land of the pyramids Son?’ my dad asked.
    ‘No Dad, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.’
    There was a pause.
    ‘Listen Son if you are really stuck.’
    My mother cut him off, she as trying to muffle her voice and I could imagine her with her hand over her mouth.
    ‘Not during the summer Rob! He won’t like it?’
    ‘It’s ok Dad. I will speak to you soon.’
    ‘Alright, bye Son,’ although he sounded far from alright.
    ‘Byeee Marky. Love you!’
    Not enough to have let me interfere with your summer though, I thought.
    ‘Bye Mother, love you too.’
    The housing office was the most depressing building I had ever seen in my entire life, a monstrosity of dirty grey concrete that was straight out of some Orwellian nightmare.
    With some trepidation I entered and was surprised to see that the interior was a stark contrast to the exterior. Outside the building was imposing and intimidating, inside it was simply horrible. The furniture was a uniform purple colour, the carpet was blue, the walls yellow and the