The time has come when I have begun the search for a new humble abode. I have been back living with my Dad for a mere two weeks, and I am missing the feeling of more room than half a metre around the side of my bed, with hardly any space for me to store my belongings. At 25, I have accumulated a lot of stuff that I am not quite ready to get rid of, and although im not a hoarder by any stretch of the imagination, my sister informs me that I probably should throw away my first ever Valentine’s Day card and the series of postcards first-boyfriend sent me from his jaunt around Asia (still jealous).
So last night i begun the hunt, fresh on the back of a ridiculous argument, and desperate to stretch my legs and put all my belongings in the same house again. I currently can’t find anything, due to some things being at Mums, some things being at Dads, and me being a total suitcase kid. I had two appointments booked in; one at a flat at Marble Arch and the second at a house in Whitechapel. I had grand designs on the one in Marble Arch being simply perfect. I loved the idea of being able to see it, and having the park right there for Saturday morning runs (walks). Te reality of it was that really I have a park in Guildford and the last time I walked around it I was a pre teen. Or drunk.
So Anna and I pitched up at the flat in Marble Arch (thank god for Anna, a phrase echoed often over the last decade) and embarked on the stairs up to the flat. I lost a stone before we got to the front door, not realising that actually it was on the sixth floor, where the girl met us by saying “why didn’t you take the elevator?!”
First concern. I have American cousins, and they allow me to mock the way they say words, because their parents are English, and we are related. I fear that a strange flat mate might not appreciate my love of an accent quite so much!
Second concern. If the lift broke, I might actually die. Just sayin.
So anyway, we left the flat and she said to me wisely “I want to hear your opinion before I give you mine” to which I responded that I didn’t like it and she said “well that’s good, because you aren’t living there. There is no lounge or table in the kitchen and if you had a takeaway your room would smell of curry.” Wise words.
We then took the tube to Whitechapel to look round place two. By this time it was 8pm, I had been out of the house since 7am, my feet hurt and my skin felt dirty, like i hadn’t seen grass in a while. I needed to get out. We got off the tube and walked the short distance to the house, getting deeper and deeper into a dodgy looking housing estate which reminded me of the time I watched the film Kidulthood (great) crossed with an episode of The Bill. At the point where we walked through the thin alley and I wanted to break into a sprint, I knew it wasn’t for me. It appears I am not trendy enough for East London. The good news is that I now know a bit more about where I want to live, but I’m tired of looking at other people’s houses. If anyone has a Fairy Godmother who is well versed in house hunting, please could I borrow her?
The hunt continues.