A seemingly perpetual past time in London is the search for a flat or the search for a flatmate.
I’ve been fairly lucky in my years here – a good run in Maida Vale and now fairly settled in the NW. Though there was about a year of slight madness in between.
Everyone has tales of people who come and see your home and those who show you theirs. It’s a freak show, no doubt about it! No, you cannot move in with your frogs. Are you seriously falling asleep on my couch during the intv? Yeah, I can tell you are a guy on the phone and yes we did advertise for a girl. No you can not move all 18 of your back packing mates in to kip on the floor “for a bit”.
So we’re at it again. Our emails are out there, we’re showing the room. We’ve agreed that it has to be someone the two remaining flatmates don’t already know – so we can avoid factions. My remaining flatmate is being a top bloke by fielding calls as I work all hours around the clock.
Essentially I guess it comes down to your own prejudices and ideals. But I’m hoping we’re normal enough and that whoever comes to live with us will also keep it together and not drink blood or burn my comic collection.
It’s hard to think about Mel leaving, she’s one hell of a force, unforgettable, funny and smart (not much to live up to for the new girl eh?) but I guess in a city that is so transient, we get used to people pretty quickly.
Let’s hope at this age going through this process gets easier.