Posts
I have two promising viewings lined up, one for tomorrow evening (after supper out with The Dipterist to hear about her idyllic camping holiday and be envious) and one at the weekend. Both places look and sound good, and are within budget and within easy reach of work.
I've also gained a viable fall-back position today, in the form of a lovely colleague in Twickenham, who has offered me a short let of her spare room for a couple of months, while I go on looking.
I did have fall-back positions, kind-of, already. But one was in Colliers' Wood, well over an hour away, and the other in Brighton. Both lovely places - and dear & generous friends to make the offer - but painful commutes nonetheless. Twickenham is about 35-40 minutes by bike (it would be less if I were a better cyclist!) and probably a bit less by train and tube. And it's a pleasant neck of the woods, too. Knowing I can take refuge there with Nikki while I carry on searching takes a big weight off my mind.
Now I'm going to have an evening off the computer; have a glass of wine with my supper, have a chat to my Mum, and then if there's nothing frivolous on the tele-box I shall watch a film. Now all I have to do is decide which dvd!
Cross your fingers for me!
Showing posts with label viewing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label viewing. Show all posts
Monday, 16 June 2014
Sunday, 15 June 2014
Big fat "Nope"...
I just had one of the worst viewings of a place to rent that I've ever had (& I've had some bad ones over the years; some day I might write about them all, just to make you all laugh).
The one consolation, as I walked away cringing, was knowing that it was so utterly bloody awful I have absolutely no doubt I did the right thing in saying a big fat "Nope"...
From the outside, it looked a perfectly okay house; a semi, bit run-down but structurally sound, big windows, wooden front door, gravelled front garden area with untidy shrubs; at a guess 1950's in vintage. So far, so unexceptional.
The first thing I noticed as I was shown inside, by the blinking half-dressed man who had answered the door, was the smell. A very odd smell; musty and kind of greasy, with an undertone of strong tobacco (it was advertised as a non-smoking house). It reminded me of very dirty hair.
The half-dressed man showed me upstairs to a first-floor front bedroom. It was a decent size and one wall was lined with built-in cupboards. But; out of the four cupboards (two large, two small) only one had handles on the doors; the rest had to be prised open with one's fingernails. In front of the cupboards a large leather sofa had been squeezed in, facing the bed. One could just about get past it to the window, where a small circular dining table and an office chair had been pushed between the bed and the window. Next to these there was a small chest of drawers with every single drawer hanging askew. A random assortment of other odd things, apparently left by the previous tenant, were scattered about the floor; a broken wheely basket, a broken lamp, a car vacuum still in the box, a giant packet of Pampers...
By then I had learned that the man showing me around was not the landlord, who I'd understood I was supposed to be meeting, but one of the other lodgers. He showed me a small and (literally) mouldy bathroom and finally a cramped and quite staggeringly filthy kitchen with a harem of flies circling. He then made a long, involved speech about how he and the other three guys living there are really great cool people, very respectful, never cause any bother, and then explained to me how they had had two other earlier tenants given notice to quit for a) not being friendly enough, and b) being too dirty. The mind boggles.
"Negative attitude is not good here", as he put it.
He told me I would probably never see the fellow my appointment was officially with; "very, very lazy guy, never comes here." He told me Lazy Guy's mother owned the place and Lazy Guy looked after the letting of it, but that he was empowered to act on behalf of Lazy Guy to arrange a new let.
The doorbell then rang and he let in a smartly dressed young man in aviator sunglasses, who told me he was Lazy Guy's brother, and the owner; just moments after I'd been told the owner was an older woman.
By this point I had been trying to get away for about nine of the ten minutes I'd been there. I seized the excuse of the interruption and made an exit.
I walked into Richmond town centre, washed my hands very thoroughly in the loos at Costa Coffee, and had an iced tea and a bun. I actually felt slightly dirty all over, just from having been in the house. Every surface in the place was thick with grime, clagged with grease, grey with caked dust, or dark with good old-fashioned black mould. My "yuck" feeling wasn't helped by the weird confusion about who actually had the privilege of owning this nadir of accommodation.
Yes, it was cheap; but not staggeringly cheap. I wouldn't have taken at at half the asking price, anyway. If I lived there I'd be terrified of catching something from the shower.
Oh well.
Regarding the really great place I saw last Monday, I now know the landlady can't make a decision until the 24th, as the last of the enquirers she's promised a viewing to can't come and see it until then. I can't wait on tenterhooks till the middle of the week after next. So I'll go on looking in the meantime.
Something's got to come up, somewhere, somehow! Please...
The one consolation, as I walked away cringing, was knowing that it was so utterly bloody awful I have absolutely no doubt I did the right thing in saying a big fat "Nope"...
From the outside, it looked a perfectly okay house; a semi, bit run-down but structurally sound, big windows, wooden front door, gravelled front garden area with untidy shrubs; at a guess 1950's in vintage. So far, so unexceptional.
The first thing I noticed as I was shown inside, by the blinking half-dressed man who had answered the door, was the smell. A very odd smell; musty and kind of greasy, with an undertone of strong tobacco (it was advertised as a non-smoking house). It reminded me of very dirty hair.
The half-dressed man showed me upstairs to a first-floor front bedroom. It was a decent size and one wall was lined with built-in cupboards. But; out of the four cupboards (two large, two small) only one had handles on the doors; the rest had to be prised open with one's fingernails. In front of the cupboards a large leather sofa had been squeezed in, facing the bed. One could just about get past it to the window, where a small circular dining table and an office chair had been pushed between the bed and the window. Next to these there was a small chest of drawers with every single drawer hanging askew. A random assortment of other odd things, apparently left by the previous tenant, were scattered about the floor; a broken wheely basket, a broken lamp, a car vacuum still in the box, a giant packet of Pampers...
By then I had learned that the man showing me around was not the landlord, who I'd understood I was supposed to be meeting, but one of the other lodgers. He showed me a small and (literally) mouldy bathroom and finally a cramped and quite staggeringly filthy kitchen with a harem of flies circling. He then made a long, involved speech about how he and the other three guys living there are really great cool people, very respectful, never cause any bother, and then explained to me how they had had two other earlier tenants given notice to quit for a) not being friendly enough, and b) being too dirty. The mind boggles.
"Negative attitude is not good here", as he put it.
He told me I would probably never see the fellow my appointment was officially with; "very, very lazy guy, never comes here." He told me Lazy Guy's mother owned the place and Lazy Guy looked after the letting of it, but that he was empowered to act on behalf of Lazy Guy to arrange a new let.
The doorbell then rang and he let in a smartly dressed young man in aviator sunglasses, who told me he was Lazy Guy's brother, and the owner; just moments after I'd been told the owner was an older woman.
By this point I had been trying to get away for about nine of the ten minutes I'd been there. I seized the excuse of the interruption and made an exit.
I walked into Richmond town centre, washed my hands very thoroughly in the loos at Costa Coffee, and had an iced tea and a bun. I actually felt slightly dirty all over, just from having been in the house. Every surface in the place was thick with grime, clagged with grease, grey with caked dust, or dark with good old-fashioned black mould. My "yuck" feeling wasn't helped by the weird confusion about who actually had the privilege of owning this nadir of accommodation.
Yes, it was cheap; but not staggeringly cheap. I wouldn't have taken at at half the asking price, anyway. If I lived there I'd be terrified of catching something from the shower.
Oh well.
Regarding the really great place I saw last Monday, I now know the landlady can't make a decision until the 24th, as the last of the enquirers she's promised a viewing to can't come and see it until then. I can't wait on tenterhooks till the middle of the week after next. So I'll go on looking in the meantime.
Something's got to come up, somewhere, somehow! Please...
Monday, 9 June 2014
Cross your fingers for me
I had my first viewing tonight; and it's lovely, and I want it! - but, of course, the landlady has other prospective tenants coming to look at the room and doesn't want to make her decision until she's met them all. Aargh!
It's like being in a beauty contest (an activity for which I am singularly ill-qualified). Nerve-wrackingly uncomfortable. All one can do, of course, is be oneself and be friendly and courteous (I hope I may say they go together with me anyway), and hope for the best.
I loved the room, I love the situation and I liked the landlady. Please let this come right for me!
It's an attic conversion in a big Edwardian house just a street away from where I am living now. It's right at the top of my budget, but it's a big room and it has an en-suite bathroom as well. There's a lovely garden, too, a green haven with an apple tree and roses and campanulas; and the landlady was a really pleasant, interesting, articulate woman. We sat in the garden and drank tea and chatted about random art and gardening things. She's friendly but doesn't want to be at the centre of my social life; but she was interesting to talk to and she makes a good cuppa. Surely the Gods will see that I'm a good fit here!
I forgot to try the bed; can't think what got into me, I always ask if I can try the bed. Too late now. I'm sure it was comfortable. This really didn't seem like the kind of place where the bed will turn out to be ancient and lumpy. This is a comfortable lived-in family home with ornaments tucked in funny corners as you go up the staircase, and nice bits of original art hanging everywhere. I can see myself living there. The whole place had a good atmosphere.
And it's still within fifteen minutes' walk of work.
Please, please, let this come together!
It's like being in a beauty contest (an activity for which I am singularly ill-qualified). Nerve-wrackingly uncomfortable. All one can do, of course, is be oneself and be friendly and courteous (I hope I may say they go together with me anyway), and hope for the best.
I loved the room, I love the situation and I liked the landlady. Please let this come right for me!
It's an attic conversion in a big Edwardian house just a street away from where I am living now. It's right at the top of my budget, but it's a big room and it has an en-suite bathroom as well. There's a lovely garden, too, a green haven with an apple tree and roses and campanulas; and the landlady was a really pleasant, interesting, articulate woman. We sat in the garden and drank tea and chatted about random art and gardening things. She's friendly but doesn't want to be at the centre of my social life; but she was interesting to talk to and she makes a good cuppa. Surely the Gods will see that I'm a good fit here!
I forgot to try the bed; can't think what got into me, I always ask if I can try the bed. Too late now. I'm sure it was comfortable. This really didn't seem like the kind of place where the bed will turn out to be ancient and lumpy. This is a comfortable lived-in family home with ornaments tucked in funny corners as you go up the staircase, and nice bits of original art hanging everywhere. I can see myself living there. The whole place had a good atmosphere.
And it's still within fifteen minutes' walk of work.
Please, please, let this come together!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)