"...the good news is that we have until the 24th March" continued Tuesday's text message, thus confirming Monday's surprise announcement.
Needless to say, my response was short, polite, but to the point, and began with the suggestion that the sender reassess his definition of the term "good news".
As well as putting the wheels in motion to relocate myself, this week has also been an exercise in trying to work out whether the annoyance I feel about having to find a new house so soon after moving in to this one is justified.
While the responses of friends, family and you lot seemed to suggest that this was indeed Crap News Delivered Badly, unfortunately there remained two people who didn't (and, I expect, still don't) quite see the problem.
Suffice to say, it came as a bit of a surprise to have to explain, in detail, to the blank, uncomprehending faces of those responsible that my "not all that great, to be honest" mood on Wednesday morning wasn't down to the onset of the common cold.
So instead of wasting any more time being annoyed, I think maybe there is some good news in all of this. Because what this whole saga really confirms is that my own views, priorities and expectations - both in life, and of others - do not match up to those of an engaged couple.
And for a 27 year old who spent Tuesday evening in a friend's kitchen with eight other single girls, drinking cheap fizzy wine, doing shots of Glenfiddich and regaling the neighbouring Kings Cross residents with a loud, not altogether tuneful rendition of Beyoncé's Love On Top, I have concluded that this can be no bad thing.