Suburban dilemma

As many of you know I have to move out of my beloved Northbridge apartment in about three weeks. As many of you also know I have been so unbelievably slack (and have also been a victim of circumstances outside my control, I assure you) getting it together that I have left it to the last possible moment to find a new place. Meaning I shall be homeless in oooh 15 days or so.

The circumstances-out-of-my-control bit is more or less to do with where I want to live. Which is to say I want to live in Northbridge and my would-be roomie not only does not but has rejected a perfectly wonderful place just down the road on the grounds that it does not accept pets and appparently he now requires a dog (the fact that the proposed dog would be called Jean Luc Picard is not quite enough to melt my icy heart). I love, love, living in the middle of the city, love the immediacy of everything, love the close proximity of my beloved Tarts and so on this one point I have been extremely firm. I may even have yelled, once or twice, that I was not ready to move to the fucking suburbs, buy a dog and spend my weekends at Bunnings.

And then my lovely parents not only go and drop a huge chunk of my future inheritance on a sweet-as little place in Shenton Park but offer to rent it to us at a knock-down fee and I'm presented with a dilemna. The house itself is lovely - it has a great bath and a great living area, both surely necessities - and is generally very cute and aesthetically appealing. Furthermore this means I won't actually be homeless and living out of a storage facility in the near future but will have a sweet-arse house in a matter of weeks and will have a pair of very understanding landlords who won't require a reference from that stupid bitch Pam at Property People with whom I once exchanged a flurry of furious emails and who probably still has a doll-sized version of me with a pin sticking out of its left eye socket sitting on her desk.

So taking the Shenton Park place and sucking up my inner-city ambitions (for the short term anyway) may seem like an obvious step but I'm conflicted. On the one hand part of me actually believes that moving to the suburbs is the death of hope and the start of a trajectory that ends with me in a cable knit sweater watching The Bill, but the other part of me remembers that a)I was once perfectly happy in Mount Hawthorn, b)Shenton Park is a perfectly lovely suburb as suburbs go and c)I do own a perfectably serviceable (suspect thumping noise aside) vehicle with which to leave the suburbs when I choose to do so.

So I seek your opinion, readers. Am I being a big girl's blouse about the entire thing? Is it actually possible to find an awesome Northbridge apartment in 15 days that is big enough to fit the biggest couch every known to mankind (and the Chesterfield)? Should I just suck it up and start working on the cable knit sweater set now?

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UPDATE: It has been brought home to me, ever so gently and kindly, that I am a bint who doesn't know how good she has it. This is true. Shenton Park is starting to sound rather appealing to me after all even if I don't get to live over the road from one crack den and two houses down from another. Sigh. Still, one can't have it all...