David Tennant

I’m currently scrabbling through my phone book trying to find the most reliable person I know. I know lots of reliable people but whether or not they can be seen as reliable in the eyes of a landlord is something different. It’s only really occurred to me in the last few days just how awkward the world of comedy is in terms of writing down anyone’s job title or relationship to me, whilst still maintaining that person has any gravitas whatsover. It has to be a character reference, but it can’t be my agent or a relative. Which just leaves people who may or may not be awake were a landlord to call them, some people who’s sketchy promoter/PR/director/artist credentials don’t sound like real jobs if you try and explain them to anyone who’ll doesn’t know, and then there are all the people I can’t trust not to say that they know me through getting drunk in Edinburgh or for a laugh tell the landlord I’m a dick and an expert at trashing houses. Then through the final lot I’ve filtered it down to, who sounds most like they are important/wise/trustworthy on the phone and then who have I spoken to recently enough that I can ask for a favour. Its not fair. Were I in the law business or a doctor or something along those lines, I’d have many of these. There’d also be a lot of people who would never have justice served due to my incompetence and several dead people due to incorrect diagnosis. To be fair, I think its all for the best.

Once I’ve sorted this bit out, I have to submit three months of bank statements which will conveniently include Edinburgh, the only month where I have no income and yet spend everything. It seems to become more and more apparent as to why I probably shouldn’t live anywhere. Ever. I mean, obviously, off paper, I’m everyone’s perfect tenant. Apart from David. I’m fairly tidy, I don’t take up much space, and I can forage for my own food. Maybe, if this current living possibility falls through I could abandon the idea of renting somewhere and instead see if I can be employed as a pet in someone else’s house? I could have a basket in the corner of the living room. As long as it was warm during winter I’d be fine. I get on with kids, could take myself for walks and entertain guests when they come round by chasing my own tail for hours. To those who think I don’t have a tail, well my onesi suit does. So there. All I’d require in return is the occasional hug, the odd milkshake and somewhere to put my thousands of CDs. Any takers?

I should warn you, if you mistreat me, I can call the RSPCA by myself. And no, I won’t be put in a home while you go on holiday. Nor will I go for long walks with you, bring you dead birds as presents or get you your slippers. However, I do make a nice cup of tea. Anyone? Anyone at all? No? Well ok. I’d better hope that they don’t actually call my character reference and discover that David Tennant doesn’t actually know who I am. Nor do I have his number. Bums. This doesn’t bode well.

All together now: Maybe tomorrow, I hope to settle down, maybe tomorrow, I’ll find my own home town……..

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