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Introducing WAID, LONDONER.
Nov. 4th, 2011 03:12 pmOh my God, everyone.
I have been wanting to move to London FOR A YEAR and actively trying to do so FOR THREE MONTHS This has a lot to do with why you haven’t heard from me. Things have been RIDICULOUUS and bizarrely governed by the narrative Rule of Three:
Three times shall you pay a holding deposit upon a flat, young Waid, and yea, when it all goes wrong you shall not get your £75 referencing fee back.
Three times shall you try to actually move your belongings into the flat you have gained, and there shall be street markets and recalcitrant storage companies who rise in defiance against you.
Back at the BEGINNING OF AUGST, when I told estate agents I was hoping to move in the first week of September, they all said “Oh, you’re looking too early! Landlords only want people who are ready to move in right NOW NOW NOW!”
Then, back around Sept. 8th or so, we found a place in Forest Hill. It was lovely. But it had no gas or electricity. But it would have by the end of the month, so we could stay with my parents until then, so no problem.
Then, two weeks later, it turned out, it really wouldn’t have gas or electricity any time soon at all.
So we needed to find another place.
And we did find one, also in Forest Hill. Paid another holding deposit. And the referencing process started. And did not stop. And basically, despite the fact that we were offering 6 months’ rent upfront, the landlady did not like us because I am an author and my flatmate, the lovely tsubaki-ny, is an American PhD student. And we kept flinging forms and proof of how generally respectable and awesome we were at them, and they kept, as it were sucking their teeth, and then they were all “Can you pay us more money? Like, a lot more money? AND, in addition to paying us vast amounts of money, can you also grovel on your bellies in the dust before us?” And we were all “...maybe?” and they were all “Forget it, piss off, we hate you and don’t want your money anyway.”
So we needed to find another place, and sharpish.
AND THEN, when we told estate agents we were hoping to move right the hell now, they said “Oh, you’re looking too late! Landlords only want people who want to move in in two months time!”
So then there were days and days spent phoning estate agents and booking six viewings for a day and then finding that five of them had either gone off the market or possibly never existed.
But somehow, we are now in Deptford, above a fishmongers’, which I feel is kind of old school and serious, and I AM SO HAPPY HERE. Yesterday I scampered about Covent Garden and then thought “Oh dear, I am carrying a wastepaper basket and missing my umbrella and laptop charger, I SHALL JUST NIP HOME AND RECTIFY THIS, AND THEN DASH OUT AGAIN.” And I did that, because I could.
Also, in Deptford, you can buy a terrifyingly vast bag of onions for 99p.
So that’s what most of the last few months have been about. And there’s something else I want to talk about, but I shall put it in a separate post...
I have been wanting to move to London FOR A YEAR and actively trying to do so FOR THREE MONTHS This has a lot to do with why you haven’t heard from me. Things have been RIDICULOUUS and bizarrely governed by the narrative Rule of Three:
Three times shall you pay a holding deposit upon a flat, young Waid, and yea, when it all goes wrong you shall not get your £75 referencing fee back.
Three times shall you try to actually move your belongings into the flat you have gained, and there shall be street markets and recalcitrant storage companies who rise in defiance against you.
Back at the BEGINNING OF AUGST, when I told estate agents I was hoping to move in the first week of September, they all said “Oh, you’re looking too early! Landlords only want people who are ready to move in right NOW NOW NOW!”
Then, back around Sept. 8th or so, we found a place in Forest Hill. It was lovely. But it had no gas or electricity. But it would have by the end of the month, so we could stay with my parents until then, so no problem.
Then, two weeks later, it turned out, it really wouldn’t have gas or electricity any time soon at all.
So we needed to find another place.
And we did find one, also in Forest Hill. Paid another holding deposit. And the referencing process started. And did not stop. And basically, despite the fact that we were offering 6 months’ rent upfront, the landlady did not like us because I am an author and my flatmate, the lovely tsubaki-ny, is an American PhD student. And we kept flinging forms and proof of how generally respectable and awesome we were at them, and they kept, as it were sucking their teeth, and then they were all “Can you pay us more money? Like, a lot more money? AND, in addition to paying us vast amounts of money, can you also grovel on your bellies in the dust before us?” And we were all “...maybe?” and they were all “Forget it, piss off, we hate you and don’t want your money anyway.”
So we needed to find another place, and sharpish.
AND THEN, when we told estate agents we were hoping to move right the hell now, they said “Oh, you’re looking too late! Landlords only want people who want to move in in two months time!”
So then there were days and days spent phoning estate agents and booking six viewings for a day and then finding that five of them had either gone off the market or possibly never existed.
But somehow, we are now in Deptford, above a fishmongers’, which I feel is kind of old school and serious, and I AM SO HAPPY HERE. Yesterday I scampered about Covent Garden and then thought “Oh dear, I am carrying a wastepaper basket and missing my umbrella and laptop charger, I SHALL JUST NIP HOME AND RECTIFY THIS, AND THEN DASH OUT AGAIN.” And I did that, because I could.
Also, in Deptford, you can buy a terrifyingly vast bag of onions for 99p.
So that’s what most of the last few months have been about. And there’s something else I want to talk about, but I shall put it in a separate post...
