The Great Flat Hunt Concludes

WE HAVE PUT A DEPOSIT DOWN ON A FLAT!

It's all very exciting. So exciting that it took a great deal of time to recover from the shock, thus explaining why this post is so late.

After searching for a week, fate seemed to smile upon Rebecca and me. It was time for a change--I had seen too many hovels and talked to too many agents. Something had to give, to set the natural balance straight.

Wednesday was a particularly dark day. I spent the morning doing the usual internet searches and desperate calls to old and new agencies, seeing what they had available. I then set up an appointment and, after having some lunch, set out. I took a bus instead of taking the tube because Mine Host pointed out that it would be less aggravating and cheaper. Ironically, though, I needed to top up my Oyster card but forgot to do it, so I had to buy a cash ticket at the bus stop, which was 2 quid instead of the 1.20 with the oyster. So that sucked. Also, I had gotten directions to the agency via the station, not the bus stop. I was running late and called multiple times trying to let the agent know, but he was not answering his phone. Frazzled, I got off the bus and was completely disoriented. I couldn't find anyone trustworthy to ask, or maybe I was just too flustered. In any case, I called a few more times (I definitely called more than 5 times), and the agent didn't answer. Realizing I was going to be late for my second appointment, I hopped back on the bus, more than aggravated.

When I called the agent with whom I had the second appointment, he, to my great joy, answered. He also arranged to pick me up from a bus stop so I didn't waste more time on the bus than necessary. He really was a fine fellow, very nice. We chatted about this and that, and about his daughter receiving her A Level results the following morning. I saw a flat that wasn't quite as bad as I had seen before, but I wasn't sure. It was worth considering.

When I got home, though, I was exhausted and pretty low. Not only had the flat hunt not greatly improved, but it was worsened by a rather harsh slap on the face from Reality. While waiting at the bus stop for the second agent to pick me up, I saw a woman and her young daughter. The woman was clearly distraught. She was on the phone, crying. As she walked by once or twice I heard her shaking voice crack as she explained to the person on the phone that she was only receiving 20 quid a week for child support, and asking desperately "What can you do with 20 quid a week?! Nothing!" I sat and listened and felt everything inside me sink a little lower. There wasn't really anything I could do. When she had gone I felt even worse, wondering if I should have offered her some money, or at least bus fare somewhere. A few days earlier a man with a small dog asked me if I could spare some change, offering to make me a wire flower in exchange. Caught off guard, I said I didn't have any change--which wasn't true. I immediately regretted it, and even tried to catch up with the fellow after getting some change out (I didn't want him to see how much I had, I was too ashamed). I missed him, though. It's hard to say no to people in general, but he offered to essentially earn my charity, and I turned him down. I was really upset about it for a while, and it still bothers me sometimes.

So yeah, things got pretty bleak for a while. But Friday...there was something special about Friday, I could just feel it. People began reminding me on Thursday, 19 August, that Friday would be different. Why? Oh yeah, it would be 20 August--you know, my birthday.

Totally forgot that.

Thursday night still found me busy with the flat hunt. That afternoon/early evening, I had 3 viewings on Stroud Green Road at above-retail flats. The first one had a dryer running, and I noticed that the large hose that usually goes from the dryer to outside was lying on the floor, pumping hot air exhaust into the room. I was a little unnerved. Then I heard the asking price: 300 pounds. WOW. Um, that's ridiculous for a crummy city flat above a store. Then I found myself with an hour to waste before my second viewing just a few doors down. I walked around a beautiful residential neighborhood across the street, wandering through the rows and rows of Victorian houses. I wish I had my camera, it was lovely. Lovely, actually, doesn't even describe it. It was quaint, it was perfect--cue settling down hormones now. After that got a bit awkward, though, since I was just this rando standing around in these peoples neighborhoods, I went back to the main road and went into a little clothing store. I chatted with the man running it, mentioning I was looking for flats.

"Oh, you saw no. 51? That's a good building. Oh, you didn't like it?"

"No, not really, but mostly it's out of my price range."

"Really...? What are they asking for it?"

"300 per week..that's just too much for me right now."

*laughs* "It's not 300! Who told you that?! The agent?"

So yeah...the shop owner knew the landlord for the building with the flat I had seen earlier. He called the landlord then and there, chatted about one thing or another, then asked if the landlord knew the estate agent was telling tenants the flat was going for 300pw. After hanging up, the man laughed and said the landlord verified that, indeed, the flat was not going for 300pw. The real asking price was 250pw. So I wonder who gets those 50 odd pounds...

Yeah. Scum bag. I'm glad I was cheeky with the agent and told him to dress better next time I saw him (he was exercising Casual Thursday).

Then I saw the next two flats. The ground floor one was a cave. Horrible. The top floor one was not bad, comparably. It was airy and bright, had a patio and a fire escape. But it was on a busy street and sparsely furnished--we'd really have to fill it out. It was an option, though. And luckily, Rebecca was to show up the next day!

My birthday!

I had arranged some appointments later in the day for us to go to once Rebecca and her mother had arrived and gotten settled at the hotel. Major props to the flatmate for pushing through any jetlag and the strains of travel to hit the ground running and LOOK FOR A FLAT! She met me in Finsbury Park and we both got on our computers. I taught her the ways of The Great Flat Hunt. IE, you sit on your but and sift through online ads, clicking "show interest" buttons and taking down numbers to call. Then you call and hear that the place you called about is already gone, ask if there is anything else similar, hear that there isn't, and finish the call by leaving your details and asking them to call you if anything comes up. Then, we checked a new site--she had sent it to me in an email the day before, but I hadn't had a chance to look at it.

Then we found it.

Well, two places, actually. One in Muswell Hill and another somewhere else that doesn't matter. As Rebecca read me the agency's number so I could call about the Muswell Hill flat, my heart didn't lift. It didn't have much inspiration--after all, how many calls had I made about good looking flats that had already been let? Many. So I wasn't getting my hopes up. Then, I heard it.

"Yes, it's still available, would you like to arrange a viewing?"

OF COURSE I WANT TO ARRANGE A VIEWING, YOU IGNORANT TWAT!

I didn't say that. But I definitely got a bit flustered and stumbled over the yes yes quite how about that same evening?

Done deal. We were meeting David at the flat.

Then we set up an appointment for another place the next day, Saturday, at 11:30. Whatever.

Took the bus over to Muswell Hill, and more or less found where we were going. Gorgeous. Rows and rows of Victorian houses. It was a bit of a steep hill, but so worth it, because as you reached the top, you could look back and see an amazing view of Victorians and the city beyond. We were early and stood outside, taking in the neighborhood. David showed up and we went in. First thing we were confronted with? A green spiral staircase leading up to the flat's entrance.

Need I say more?

Of course not. We were there for over an hour looking around and chatting with the current tenant and the agent. We got a rave review of the landlord from both and took in the awesomeness of a huge living room lounge and two unequally sized but both very cool bedrooms. The kitchen and bathroom were a bit drab...but who the hell cares. You can shower with your eyes closed, and you can look at the yummy things you're cooking instead of the boring floor.

We were pretty much ready to put a deposit down then and there--Rebecca even told me she had the cash on hand, as did I. However, we wanted to make sure this really was the right choice. Was it close enough to the tube? Was there fun stuff to do nearby as well as further out? So we made plans to call David later that evening. We took a walk to the Highgate tube station to figure out how long it took--a bit of a long walk, 15 minutes--but it felt like good exercise! Plus, we could catch a bus when lazy. And we were on the perfect tube line to plop us down right near school.

But we did have that appointment the following morning at 11:30...we should be thorough, right? especially since the other place was a lot cheaper.

So we made plans to meet David at 12:45 to make an offer--that way, we could see the other place and either go running and screaming to be taken in and saved from a hovel by David, or we could say thanks but no thanks.

Next morning, we met up at the tube and more or less got to the flat we were viewing.

The viewing happened.

(silence)

"So...first impressions?..."

"I don't think we even need to discuss this."

(silence)

So to David we went and handed him 150 quid each while sipping on some black tea with milk--no sugar.