Escaping from a small, dark flat with mouldy walls and manky carpet. It’s great. It’s also great to know that you are no longer paying a ridiculously unfair amount of rent for the privilege of being driven to slit your wrists by the unbearable cold and damp. But the best thing of all is never having to hear that psychotic weirdo with the plastic bag shouting “HOLD IT, HOLD IT HOLD IT!” over and over again as he shuffles along Camden Street, bepissing himself.