Accommodation

Coming to live in the capital for 12 months means many things to me.

First of all, where am I going to stay, that’s reasonable, cost effective and safe. Working in Canary Wharf may be nice but not all of us earn the mega bucks of senior bankers and finance bosses. However it will keep me ticking over and in the employed bracket.

After landing the job I had to find somewhere to live within a reasonable commuting distance of work. Simple! Not a chance. i looked at my budget which was between five and 600 hundred per calendar month. I thought I’d get somewhere half decent. Bloody hell was I in for a shock.

I checked some online house share websites and viewed several properties. The first I viewed was 550 per month so was mid budget and it looked great on the pictures and in a great location. It was a single room and included all bills and WiFi. Oh My God! when I got there the smell of weed was so strong I was almost sick. The agent met me at the property and showed me in. He was very nice and polite and very softly spoken whereas I’m a northern bloke and sound a bit rough around the edges. He opened the door for me and we entered the house. the first thing that hit me was the stench of dampness. It was ripe! When i was talking to the agent I could feel my nostrils flexing. I asked him “is that a slight damp smell I’m picking up?” Trust me it was fucking lifting! his response was “don’t worry I think there was a slight leak from the washing machine last week, but it’s all fixed now”.

He showed me to what would be my bedroom and in my head was the thoughts bloody hell it’s a room with a single bed in it and no room for anything else. You couldn’t swing a cat in the place (no offence cat lovers, I have two). We then went to the bathroom. Of course as we are walking between rooms we were having a bit of banter. When we entered the bathroom I found out the real reason for the damp smell. Approximately one foot of tiles above the bath (which had a shower over) was furry with black mildew and the shower curtain was not a curtain. I’m convinced it was a shroud of mildew hanging from curtain hooks above the bath. There were open wires leading to the electric shower and then I caught site of it, the toilet, the carsey, the crapper. The seat was more like a velvet seat of which i am sure was mildew and the stains around and in it were disgusting.so in the finest words i could muster at that moment, I asked the agent “Are you fucking taking the piss?” His response was you’ll be sharing the house with four other guys. At that point I turned and started for the exit saying “well that aint gonna fucking happen”

I got back to the hotel I was staying at and showered for about an hour with my arse pursing at the sheer thought of sitting on that toilet. Knowing if I did so it would closely resemble a Flanders poppy (think of poppy day and you’ll get my drift)

It was later that night whilst in a state of panic that I came across a website about being a residential guardian of a property…