So in the dying days of my tenancy in my flat - all on my tod - I've been observing the estate agent attempting to convince potential successors to me to pay £1200 a month for a two bedroom flat. It's a lovely place, but he'll have done a good job if he can secure that price for it.

And to be fair he's doing everything he can. Our south-east facing roof garden has been magically shifted to south. My twenty minute walk to Finsbury Park has been interpreted as "only a five/ten minute walk from Finsbury Park so it's good for the tube."

"What's the parking like?" some annoyingly tall Aussie bloke who came round asked.

"Oh, it's all free - you can park anywhere you like, there are plenty of spaces."

True; but the council, manevolent bastards that they are, have decided that there is some earth-shatteringly important reason why this should be changed and parking will in future be metered. Oh, it'll be mainly reserved for residents - but for the "administrational" fee of £300 a year.

Ah the joy of estate agents...