I have conceded defeat this week by finding myself ‘digs’ in Epsom. I’ve finally ‘fessed up to the fact that I am going to have to get used to spending several nights every month in said place unless I:

a. Find someone to offer me a record deal – as I can’t sing a note, that’s about as likely as David Cassidy asking me to marry him….
b. Get asked to write a novel, with a big, fat advance – I can’t string a sentence together any more that gets treated with anything other than scorn and derision so that’s probably a no-go too.
c. Get a Getty Images contract so I can earn my living as a photographer – add together the responses to a and b above and I think you’ll find the likelihood of c is the sum of the two parts!

I am basically feeling about as useful as two left boots and am fundamentally crap at everything I try to do.

So, I am stuck with Epsom.

Last year, I couldn’t bring myself to find somewhere more permanent than a hotel room because I was sticking my head in the sand….but now I’ve realised two things…..

1. I feel so guilty every time I stay with one of my friends in case they hate me for sponging off them
2. I am flat broke and a big contributor to my broke-ness is the fact that I’m shelling out a fortune on hotels. (And to be honest, if you'd seen some of the dumps I stayed in then you'll realise how depressing this point is.)

Then I heard a story about someone who was looking for someone who would help to stave off loneliness and help out financially and it was mooted that the first someone might be me. I thought it sounded ‘just up my street’ and the other someone thought the same so now I have a place to hang my hat in Epsom.

When I shut the door of my room tonight, I found this very old and obviously well-loved ted behind the door so I pulled him out and he’s now the symbol of my new home-from-home.

Last year, leopardskin and plastic were my things!