The interval betwixt ‘tick’ and ‘tock’ is horrendously long at the moment. We saw an absolutely perfect flat / unit / apartment / whatever on Saturday lunchtime. We both decided that it was the business, so we abandoned the last scheduled viewing and bolted to the real estate agents to sign our lives away for the next four seasons. We filled out every last detail in their scrutinising application forms and handed them over, pleased that we had arrived at the office prior to the crowd of others at the flat. We were asked for a multitude of types of identification as well as past rental history. Sadly, neither of us is in the habit of carrying birth certificates, utility bills or suchlike with us and so we were told that our time would be better spent at home, gathering the required identity-confirming paraphernalia. In any case, applications would not be considered until Monday morning.

We stopped for a bite to eat at the local Subway, during which the skies darkened and the heavens opened. Thunderclaps rocked the building as we ate our lunch and watched the raindrops bounce up inches above the bitumen road outside. As the rain died down, we dashed for the car and drove back through torrential rain back to the hostel. We spent the afternoon gathering the required information and then spent the evening relaxing.

Yesterday was a peaceful day. The most strenuous thing we did was taking a stroll through the Queen Victoria markets where we picked up a few clothes that were more ‘office’ than ‘backpacker’.

After a restless night’s sleep, we were up bright and early and were at the real estate agent’s office when they opened at 0830. We presented them with our carefully-filled-in forms and copious forms of identification. They thanked us and said that they would be in touch.

From there we walked a few hundred metres to another agents and handed them a pair of similar forms (no ID needed) for our second choice of abode. They said that they understood our urgency (remember that we have but a fortnight left to vacate the YHA) and would get back to us as quickly as possible. We walked along Toorak Road in South Yarra to the tram stop feeling confident that today would be the day that we found our new home.

It is now a little after six on the sunny Victorian clock and we are yet to hear an affirmation from either agent. Fingers continue to tap, but a watched telephone never rings.

I did hear by email though that some words that I have written for TNT Magazine, a free antipodean magazine for travellers, would be published in the very next issue. Perhaps I should consider a change in career…