I couldn't quite understand why people made a fuss about the weather in London, because since the day we landed, the sun has been out and it's been absolutely glorious. D and I chuckle to ourselves every morning when we wake up to the sun streaming through the bedroom window... What were those crazy people of Perth thinking when they told us of the miserable weather? It has been so perfect...
This is of course, with the exception of the one day that D and I decided to walk for hours through South West London to view the flats we had narrowed down in our search for a place to live. We found ourselves in the middle of nowhere (well, let's be honest, I never really have a complete understanding of where I am, so it felt like the middle of nowhere to me... D on the other hand, seems to know exactly where we are at all times, thank goodness), staring up through the rain at an enormous labyrinth of multi-storey flats. You know the ones, right?
This is of course, with the exception of the one day that D and I decided to walk for hours through South West London to view the flats we had narrowed down in our search for a place to live. We found ourselves in the middle of nowhere (well, let's be honest, I never really have a complete understanding of where I am, so it felt like the middle of nowhere to me... D on the other hand, seems to know exactly where we are at all times, thank goodness), staring up through the rain at an enormous labyrinth of multi-storey flats. You know the ones, right?
They're often featured in movies and TV shows when the writer wants to show the viewer what unfortunate circumstances the character has found themselves in and then the viewer is compelled to feel some sort of sympathy towards the character, la de da... Well, if my life was a movie, the thoughts I was thinking and the feels I was feeling in that moment were pretty spot on with the negative connotations that surround themselves with such image. I was the character that everyone felt sorry for. This was all intensified of course, by the bellowing wind and unforgiving rain, which just never seemed to stop falling.
It suddenly occurred to me that living in a place like that might be all we could afford. I instantly imagined living there and being woken up in the early hours of the morning by a cockroach running across my face, or the police doing a drug inspection next door, the creaking bed upstairs or the domestic happening on the floor below. I imagined trying to sleep with a flickering fluorescent light outside and a dripping tap in the mouldy bathroom... What can I say? I have a vivid imagination and a tendency to get carried away.
So there we were, standing in the rain, buzzing the intercom to no prevail... Moments before giving up and turning away to navigate back through the streets, a gangster looking black dude approached and let himself into the complex. He may as well have been wearing angel wings and a halo, because before he even let go of the heavy gate he asked if we were going in, "or wha?" Not that I'm doubting his compassionate moment there, but I do think there's something rather pathetic about two obviously out of place people in a place they obviously don't know. It's kind of like when you see a really uncoordinated toddler taking their first steps, part of you wants to sit back and laugh and part of you wants to go help them because you physically can't bare to watch them struggle and look like such an idiot. Anyway, that was us. The toddler.
We navigated through stairwells, and walked past tight balconies of numbered doors. I almost expected a peroxide blonde woman to stagger through one of the doors, tatty fishnet stockings, shoes in hand and soggy cigarette in mouth. She'd be spluttering profanities over her shoulder, look up to see my wild eyes and ask "wha you lookin' at?"... But again, I digress. Though I must say, this one didn't seem so far fetched given the circumstances.
We eventually found the number we needed and waited anxiously in the doorway. I wasn't concerned about dripping all over the floor, as the owners seemed not to mind about the state of their place. We were lead up to our potential room by a surprisingly well dressed and well spoken landlord. Unfortunately I was not as pleasantly surprised by the room as I was by the landlord in leather. It was obvious that the previous tenants were smokers because it reeked of cigarettes and other unknown substances that I'm sure would be illegal. To the landlord in leather's credit, he obviously had tried to mask the smoky scent of the room because beneath that revolting musk, was the pungent and distinctive smell of disinfectant. It was all topped off with with a cheap ladies perfume or toilet spray to sweeten the air, it did not succeed in doing this. It was revolting. The rooms itself was a disaster, from the mould on the ceiling and floors to the suspiciously stained and saggy mattress. Let alone the fact that I'm almost sure prisoners have more room in their cells, surely this "room" broke some sort of law against decent living... I would rather sleep on the seats of a twenty-four hour McDonalds or sell my organs one by one to raise enough funds to buy a ticket home, than live in that poor excuse for a house. We left quickly and quietly.
There was a silver lining to this incredibly grey clouded day. It came after several more showers of rain, many more kilometres walked, a few bus trips, more not-particularly-exciting-though-far-less-awful-than-the-first flats, a delicious soup from Pret a Manger, a personal best time for completing two layers of a Rubik's cube, the purchase of a ludicrously over priced umbrella immediately before the rain stopped falling and the very exciting journey on the top storey of a double decker bus. But I'll save that tale for another time.
I'll leave it here with an unusually optimistic snap of D and I on the top level of a two storey bus and our rainy view. Perhaps we look so happy here because at last we were not in the rain, or maybe we had a sneaking suspicion of the incredibly fortunate and amazing events that were to follow that evening...
It suddenly occurred to me that living in a place like that might be all we could afford. I instantly imagined living there and being woken up in the early hours of the morning by a cockroach running across my face, or the police doing a drug inspection next door, the creaking bed upstairs or the domestic happening on the floor below. I imagined trying to sleep with a flickering fluorescent light outside and a dripping tap in the mouldy bathroom... What can I say? I have a vivid imagination and a tendency to get carried away.
So there we were, standing in the rain, buzzing the intercom to no prevail... Moments before giving up and turning away to navigate back through the streets, a gangster looking black dude approached and let himself into the complex. He may as well have been wearing angel wings and a halo, because before he even let go of the heavy gate he asked if we were going in, "or wha?" Not that I'm doubting his compassionate moment there, but I do think there's something rather pathetic about two obviously out of place people in a place they obviously don't know. It's kind of like when you see a really uncoordinated toddler taking their first steps, part of you wants to sit back and laugh and part of you wants to go help them because you physically can't bare to watch them struggle and look like such an idiot. Anyway, that was us. The toddler.
We navigated through stairwells, and walked past tight balconies of numbered doors. I almost expected a peroxide blonde woman to stagger through one of the doors, tatty fishnet stockings, shoes in hand and soggy cigarette in mouth. She'd be spluttering profanities over her shoulder, look up to see my wild eyes and ask "wha you lookin' at?"... But again, I digress. Though I must say, this one didn't seem so far fetched given the circumstances.
We eventually found the number we needed and waited anxiously in the doorway. I wasn't concerned about dripping all over the floor, as the owners seemed not to mind about the state of their place. We were lead up to our potential room by a surprisingly well dressed and well spoken landlord. Unfortunately I was not as pleasantly surprised by the room as I was by the landlord in leather. It was obvious that the previous tenants were smokers because it reeked of cigarettes and other unknown substances that I'm sure would be illegal. To the landlord in leather's credit, he obviously had tried to mask the smoky scent of the room because beneath that revolting musk, was the pungent and distinctive smell of disinfectant. It was all topped off with with a cheap ladies perfume or toilet spray to sweeten the air, it did not succeed in doing this. It was revolting. The rooms itself was a disaster, from the mould on the ceiling and floors to the suspiciously stained and saggy mattress. Let alone the fact that I'm almost sure prisoners have more room in their cells, surely this "room" broke some sort of law against decent living... I would rather sleep on the seats of a twenty-four hour McDonalds or sell my organs one by one to raise enough funds to buy a ticket home, than live in that poor excuse for a house. We left quickly and quietly.
There was a silver lining to this incredibly grey clouded day. It came after several more showers of rain, many more kilometres walked, a few bus trips, more not-particularly-exciting-though-far-less-awful-than-the-first flats, a delicious soup from Pret a Manger, a personal best time for completing two layers of a Rubik's cube, the purchase of a ludicrously over priced umbrella immediately before the rain stopped falling and the very exciting journey on the top storey of a double decker bus. But I'll save that tale for another time.
I'll leave it here with an unusually optimistic snap of D and I on the top level of a two storey bus and our rainy view. Perhaps we look so happy here because at last we were not in the rain, or maybe we had a sneaking suspicion of the incredibly fortunate and amazing events that were to follow that evening...
Xxo