Week 48 Day 5

A year into this crazy adventure, 6 flats and 2 job titles later, here I am. In London. Still.

Having moved out of the Squaddies flat (week 29) and on to stay with friends with about 4 months, I finally found a fantastic townhouse in Brixton. I moved in with a girl who seemed lovely at first and felt like I was above to see my self settling down in London Town!

As the long cold nights of December came and went, I realised that this arrangement wasn't all that great afterwards and after being kept awake on many an occasion because of the noise of my flatmate shagging the most recent guy, whose name she wouldn't know and whose language she probably couldn't understand, I was glad when she told me she was moving out.

It was a bit irritating that she did this once she had a filled her taxi with all of her belongings and even more irritating that I had no say in the replacement flatmate. But in 46 short weeks I have lived with Jane, Paul, Niall, Sarah, Nicky, Craig, Sebastian, Laura and Dominique so surely the next one can't be that bad?

Available Immediately, must be seen!

Immediately when challenged with the prospect of moving to London, the concept of finding somewhere to live is overwhelming. One bed? Flatshare? Close to work? Near the tube? Overground? Nice area? Zone 1? It's all terrifying, but the only way of getting it sorted is by googling your ass off!

My first viewing when I arrived in London was for somewhere called Dolphin Square. It was a bright single room in 5 bedroom apartment for £850 per month including bills. I took my mum to the viewing and knew almost immediately that I would end up living there. It was a 15 min walk to work once I figured out the directions and as it was Princess Anne's old gaff I figured... What the hell, if a Royal can handle it, I'll probably be ok.

Over the next few weeks, I settled in an the oddities of the scenario slowly sank in. The lady whose flat it was, an ex-actress and widow was perfectly eccentric, in a motherly and caring sort of way. One of her sons was a personal trainer the other, the manager for a big rock band. Despite the 5 foot statue of St Anthony in the hallway, she didn't come across as overly religious, although I might not have been paying enough attention, as I was quite wrong.

There were things about living there that were odd. There were 5 bedrooms; 'The Princess Ann Suite', her wardrobe (my room), the nieces room, and two large doubles both rented out on a Monday to Friday basis. One was rented to Paul, a fairly permanent resident. Niall, an investment banker who claimed to be a Shaman healer was in the suite that was rented at £1600 / month!!! Jane lived there, although only during the day, she would sleep at her sons house or at her house in the country.

It also came with some rules... the broadband needed to be switched off 30 mins before bed time; no visitors allowed unless written permission was requested 2 weeks in advance; absolutely no overnight guests; keep drinking and late nights to a minimum.

It was like moving in with your parents, if you had the strictest parents in the world!

Week 24, day 3.

Sitting in a flat that I have called home for the past 2 months, surrounded by a modest pile of belongings, preparing to move on to my 3rd London home.... perfect time for a blog.

The past three weeks has been crazy to the point that I nearly went back to Glasgow but preparing to leave the current flat and move to the next has reinvigorated my sense of hope. Moving in with a man on the cusp of turning 40, who is leaving the Army, separating from his wife and child, trying to prove himself to everyone and spends far too much time with his hands in his pants and his mind in everyone elses, was clearly a bad idea... but hindsight is a wonderful thing. And there was a puppy!

What have I learned from this? Well, cheap rent is cheap for a reason. Whether its because the flatmate shouldn't be subletting an Army subsidised family home or because you are living in a punk rock squat, you will pay a price eventually.

Next, puppies are cute, but unless you have a garden, puppy school enrollment form, someone to look after it during the day and a conscience deep enough to not kick its ass when it pees on the carpet.... don't get a puppy. In a similar vain, unless you know that the owner of the puppy has all of the above... don't take the flat.

Last lesson and probably the most important... Good friends are not the ones who turn their back when you need them most and they are not necessarily the ones you have known for the longest time. Since moving to London I have learned a lot about friends and despite what I thought in June, I have a lot of them, if it wasn't for those friends I don't know where I would be right now but it probably wouldn't be in London moving on to bigger and better things.

How it all began

Having found myself at the good age of 28, living in Glasgow in my own flat, with a great bunch of friends and family and reasonable jobs prospects, either boredom or curiosity crept in. Twenty-four weeks on from then, sometimes I wish I'd just redecorated the spare room, but over all there is a glimmer of hope that it wasn't a terrible idea! This blog is an accumulation of the disasters and triumphs that have gotten me here.

After being offered a permanent job with a media company in the exact area of my expertise, I decided, after many long conversations and tear stained cuddles, that in all reality Glasgow has not being doing me any favours and perhaps moving to London was indeed the only option. Having witnessed people on my MSc studying all over the world, I had previously considered that I had missed a trick by staying at home the whole time. But why would I leave? I had my family, my friends, lovely boyfriend, a nice flat and a generally pleasant existence, yet part of me had wondered if I was capable of such a huge and incomprehensible step.

After spending a weekend in London hunting for flat with my Mum, it all started to sink in, me, on my own, in London. Gulp. This was terrifying. Through the tears, of which there has been many, I found a nice flat in Pimlico, in a great complex and only a 15 minute from the office. I would be sharing with a lady in her 50's, her neice, a professional man in his 40's and someone else who I forget.

In denial and potentially in order to soak up as much of my home town as was possible, I decided to move down on the last flight of the night before my first day at work. I arrived at the my unfamiliar new home just after midnight and clambered out of the black hack taxi unassisted with a huge suitcase and some other luggage, I realised I didn't even know how to get to the flat, I called the number my new land lady had given me and her niece provided me with enough directions to fumble my way to my new palace.

My room was a "cosy" ie tiny, single room. When I first stood there, still wearing my coat, it reminded me of my childhood bedroom just smaller and with nothing that possessed any true character or personality. White linen, small cushions a simple metal garden table posing as a bedside table and a shallow, empty bookcase. There was no room for my suitcase so I began unpacking into the cupboard in the hallway that was my wardrobe. After this, it was a blur or calling my mum and my boyfriend, crying a bit and going to sleep.

The next day, I was distracted from my living situation by my first day at work. Owing to my poor sense of direction I decided to leave at 9am leaving me an hour to get there on time, it was a 15 minute walk on the map, but I had a feeling it might not work out like that. I arrived at a minute to ten. As I was escorted up to the meeting room for the induction I couldn't help but feel quite proud of myself, check me out.... at work, in London!!!