A place to call home (away from home) ... at last
Since Paul started working last week it's been my task to find us a place to live. Now, if you know me at all, you would know that it's almost a hobby of mine to check out houses and apartments on the various property websites around the traps. Hell, I had been searching for suitable London accommodation since last year! I swear, I should have been in real estate. Actually, a perfect business opportunity for me would be to be a house-hunter for all of those "too busy to deal with agents, trawl through the net/papers, view properties" kind of people.
I commenced my real search last week. On a daily basis I'd log into to findaproperty.co.uk and search for suitable properties. We had criteria you see and it had to be met; wooden floorboards, dishwasher (I cook a lot), a garden, fully furnished, walking distance to transport and reasonably newly renovated. In the space of a week I had viewed over 10 different apartments, maisonettes, conversions and flats. My head was spinning with rental listings, street names, agents names etc etc and my mobile was running off the hook. The second property I viewed was a fully furnished first floor conversion flat in fabulous Southfields (mine and Paul's ideal location). It was the kind of place that wasn't perfect (no garden, small kitchen and no dishwasher), but when you walked into the living room (they call it a reception over here) it gave you a warm feeling. It was nicely furnished, the bathroom was getting renovated, it had a funky big stainless steel Smeg fridge and the second bedroom was big enough to be a study and a guest bedroom. I made Paul come and see it straight away and he had the same feeling as me.
Well, I wasn't happy was I! I wanted my garden and dreaded cooking in that kitchen as it was kinda tiny ... so I kept looking. On a daily basis, I'd choose a new suburb, impose myself on real estate agents and get them to drive me around to various "suitable" properties. Now, I'm not sure if I'm fussy, but my idea of a nice property is certainly not a real estate agent's idea of a nice property. I've viewed properties with kitchens the size of broom closets, flats above Indian takeways (I've been warned about the smell of curry embedding itself in your linen), bathrooms with carpetted floors (I still don't get that), places that smell like cat pee, carpet that looks like someone's mud wrestled on them and gardens you couldn't swing a jaffa cake eating squirrel in.
The only real upside of all this property viewing has been being able to drive around in Letting Agent's cars all day. On Tuesday I was swanning around in a convertible VW beetle with the sun beating down on me, last week it was a funky mini-cooper (the agent was kinda cute too!), and I've driven in every VW Golf and Polo known to man.
So after what seemed like my gazillionth viewing I decided to give up and allow Paul to put an offer on the second property we looked at (always the way isn't it). Someone else had already made an offer so it wasn't guaranteed that ours would be accepted, so today I continued looking. Just as I was viewing a property that met ALL of our criteria, dishwasher, balcony, walking distance to the Tube, wooden floor boards, two good-sized bedrooms and really really nicely renovated, (oh, and squirrels frolicking in the front yard) Paul called me to tell me that they had accepted our offer on the property in Southfields and we could move in at the end of the month. I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or excited. Excited I am though ... we will now have a place to call (almost) our own. I have already conjured up ways to spend money on additional furnishings and adding my own touch to the place.
So the next chapter begins.
Oh ... and I start a temp role with a very large, very well known music/media company in Oxford Street next week ... good widget factor that role is going to be!
Oh ... and I met up with my dearest friend G-Roov (Mark) yesterday who I used to work with in Kings Cross in Sydney when he was a backpacker in Australia. He's English but has been living in New York for the past four years. We did the London Eye, The Tate Modern Gallery, had lunch at a quaint little pub in the Borough, I tried my first Pimms (no more Mel Royales for me - I'm converted!) and then met up again for more drinks and a fabulous Italian meal in Clapham for dinner. He's a member of the Soho Club in Soho (apparently it's tre' exclusive) and has promised to take me there for drinks as soon as.
Oh ... and ... no more "Oh ands" ... for now.
I commenced my real search last week. On a daily basis I'd log into to findaproperty.co.uk and search for suitable properties. We had criteria you see and it had to be met; wooden floorboards, dishwasher (I cook a lot), a garden, fully furnished, walking distance to transport and reasonably newly renovated. In the space of a week I had viewed over 10 different apartments, maisonettes, conversions and flats. My head was spinning with rental listings, street names, agents names etc etc and my mobile was running off the hook. The second property I viewed was a fully furnished first floor conversion flat in fabulous Southfields (mine and Paul's ideal location). It was the kind of place that wasn't perfect (no garden, small kitchen and no dishwasher), but when you walked into the living room (they call it a reception over here) it gave you a warm feeling. It was nicely furnished, the bathroom was getting renovated, it had a funky big stainless steel Smeg fridge and the second bedroom was big enough to be a study and a guest bedroom. I made Paul come and see it straight away and he had the same feeling as me.
Well, I wasn't happy was I! I wanted my garden and dreaded cooking in that kitchen as it was kinda tiny ... so I kept looking. On a daily basis, I'd choose a new suburb, impose myself on real estate agents and get them to drive me around to various "suitable" properties. Now, I'm not sure if I'm fussy, but my idea of a nice property is certainly not a real estate agent's idea of a nice property. I've viewed properties with kitchens the size of broom closets, flats above Indian takeways (I've been warned about the smell of curry embedding itself in your linen), bathrooms with carpetted floors (I still don't get that), places that smell like cat pee, carpet that looks like someone's mud wrestled on them and gardens you couldn't swing a jaffa cake eating squirrel in.
The only real upside of all this property viewing has been being able to drive around in Letting Agent's cars all day. On Tuesday I was swanning around in a convertible VW beetle with the sun beating down on me, last week it was a funky mini-cooper (the agent was kinda cute too!), and I've driven in every VW Golf and Polo known to man.
So after what seemed like my gazillionth viewing I decided to give up and allow Paul to put an offer on the second property we looked at (always the way isn't it). Someone else had already made an offer so it wasn't guaranteed that ours would be accepted, so today I continued looking. Just as I was viewing a property that met ALL of our criteria, dishwasher, balcony, walking distance to the Tube, wooden floor boards, two good-sized bedrooms and really really nicely renovated, (oh, and squirrels frolicking in the front yard) Paul called me to tell me that they had accepted our offer on the property in Southfields and we could move in at the end of the month. I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or excited. Excited I am though ... we will now have a place to call (almost) our own. I have already conjured up ways to spend money on additional furnishings and adding my own touch to the place.
So the next chapter begins.
Oh ... and I start a temp role with a very large, very well known music/media company in Oxford Street next week ... good widget factor that role is going to be!
Oh ... and I met up with my dearest friend G-Roov (Mark) yesterday who I used to work with in Kings Cross in Sydney when he was a backpacker in Australia. He's English but has been living in New York for the past four years. We did the London Eye, The Tate Modern Gallery, had lunch at a quaint little pub in the Borough, I tried my first Pimms (no more Mel Royales for me - I'm converted!) and then met up again for more drinks and a fabulous Italian meal in Clapham for dinner. He's a member of the Soho Club in Soho (apparently it's tre' exclusive) and has promised to take me there for drinks as soon as.
Oh ... and ... no more "Oh ands" ... for now.
posted by Melissa at
4:51 AM
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