Well, I am now officially the owner of a 2 bedroom apartment and a 6 figure debt.

Which, as you might imagine, is both thrilling and scary as hell.

Like most people, I�m sure, I have in the past had occasional moments where the knowledge that I will have to continue working for the next thirty-five years without significant break makes itself clear to me and I sigh and attempt not to think about it.

Usually that knowledge resides in the part of my brain that is exiled to Egypt in order to allow me to move through life without being permanently depressed. It only occasionally returns to remind me of its existence just in case I ever consider quitting my job.

Now it will be joined by de Nile by its larger, hammer carrying troll of a cousin, the knowledge that for the next thirty years I will not only have to keep working to you know, eat, but also to pay hefty sums of money back to my friend the bank. Each and every month. For thirty years.

My status as a single person also impacts on this, I have to reluctantly admit. The fact that it�s all dependent on me, and may always be, only adds to the pressure. Usually I do not sit around pining for a husband like some whiny chick lit heroine (which is not to dish all chick lit, I enjoyed Bridget Jones as much as the next girl), but when filling out income protection insurance forms because if I get sick or injured there is literally no one else to pick up the slack, a husband starts to become very appealing for more than just emotional reasons.

Urrghh.

I raise this now only as a means of exorcising the knowledge of these realities from my every day conscious thoughts.

And to once again compare taking on so much debt, as I have so many times in the lead up to actually buying property, to the prospect of renting forever instead and spending all that money on someone else�s property. Property that I could not attach a picture hook to, nor paint or recarpet or change the blinds in, without getting someone else�s permission.

See, I feel better already. And ready to send those evil depressing thoughts away immediately. Or as soon as I�ve made the first payment and it all comes into even more startling relief, anyway.

Time to pick up the keys and start moving in. And learning how to do handyperson things like putting up a new blind in the bathroom and installing window locks. Time to start unpacking those boxes that haven�t been unpacked for seven or eight years. To make the place mine so I don�t feel resentful about all the money.

And if all of that fails, I can always win the lottery, or sell the place.

Hmmm, might go and buy a Powerball ticket now.