London Abodes

It's probably safe to say that my time spent in London isn't entirely made up of traveling, partying, exploring, absorbing London. It should then come as no surprise that a large percentage of my time is spent confined in my private quarters. The place where I sleep, laze, pass time, eat, read and ponder the greater issues in this life; more commonly known as my room. My stint in London has had me living out of different accommodations in the various boroughs of London. Here are my lodgings from the past half a year.


Upon arrival in London I dossed (n: Temporary make-shift bedding) for 2 weeks on a friend's couch in Paddington.


After forfeiting his lease, thereby leaving himself and I homeless I found myself short-letting with another friend at a discounted rent of £200/PCM in Highbury and Islington.


Upon completion of that short-let I managed to pick up a 3 month short-let in the suburb of Royal Oak.


Which finally brings me to my current dwelling in Soho, Tottenham Court Road. I can quite confidently say that this will not be the last place of residence in London.

Farewell W2 5TQ

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" - A tale of Two Cities: Charles Dickens

Flat 91. With an air of certainty I can confidently say this will be the last time I walk these corridors of the Royal Oak Villas. The dimly lit hallway, littered with crayons, rubbish and temporarily parked prams has been an eyesore for the last 3 months. Majority of my London experience has taken place here at Royal Oak. My first rental property, my first European Holiday, my first visitor, my first job offer. I leave the house in similar conditions to how I arrived. With nobody around. My (ex) room-mates are all out, working or socialising. I pull the door close for the last time. The turgid air laden with subcontinental spices invades the nostrils as I push my way through the hallway doors to the lifts. It will be the last time I catch the lift down from the 14th floor.

The rhythmic sound of the suitcase wheels click behind me. It's 9 pm as I drag my belongings through the park en route to the Tube Station. As I pass three young girls, one of them yells "Oi!". A young male in front of me turns around, he pauses then without warning removes his belt and runs off into the middle of the park. I stare into the darkness he just disappeared into. Suddenly the tension in the park intensifies. Before I realise what is happening I see another youth being pursued by a group of young-uns. "Get him!" one of them yells. A group of young males are chasing a young black male through the park. He trips and they pounce on him like a pack of hyenas on a wounded animal.

The attackers reign down stomps and fists as those wielding belts unleash leather fury onto his body. Unfortunately for the victim, the darkness of the park shrouds majority of the viciousness. Bracing against the barrage of attacks he manages to get to his feet and fend off the would-be thugs. His flight leaves him disorientated losing his hat and a shoe. Bystanders (I included) are watching as he runs out of the park through and across the main road. Cars are the least of his worries as headlights flash and horns blare. The youths retreat back into the park, the chase is over. I cross the road moments later, passing the prey as I walk to the Tube Station. "Did you get my shoe?" he asks a one of the females from the beginning. Still breathing heavily, he feigns towards the park and with both hands in the air yelling with contempt "I'll f**k you up!" (sic).

I'm going to miss this place...

Knock, knock ...

Rewind. When I first arrived in London I had one simple plan. Find a job. That was it. Should this plan backfire I had devised an equally simple contingent: If, come October I was still unemployed, I would simply return home with an empty bank account, a bruised ego and a multitude of stories. Given the uncertain nature of my London Nudie Run chapter you can understand my apprehension of signing into a long term lease. With this in mind I needed a sojourn for three months. My criteria would be as follows: Something short-term, something relatively cheap and something within central London.

After countless viewings I eventually came across an advertised flat share in the Westminster suburb of Royal Oak. The room was being advertised as a 3 month short let within an ex-council block of flats. The room would be vacant for 3 months and during this time I would be entitled to use the room at a reduced price of £480 per calendar month plus a £250 bond. The current tenant was heading back to Spain for three months and would return to London at the start of October. So at least I thought...

Fast forward. "Come in!" I shouted late yesterday evening in response to a knock on my door. The door eased open and standing in the hallway was the owner of the room. "Hey! You're back one month early" I tentatively queried. Turns out he came all the way back to London for an exam and would only be staying for a night or two before returning to Spain. Now this isn't the point of my post. The point is, I had just finished my laundry and had hung my laundry all about the room.



To the unknowing observer the room was a complete mess. It looked like the result of a washing machine that had been strapped with dynamite and placed in the middle of my room. It required closer inspection to see that my clothing was strategically placed around the room to dry. Shirts hanging off his blinds, socks stuffed his cupboard handles and underwear hanging off his desk lamp, his TV and his bed.


As we talked I couldn't help but notice his eyes stray around the room. Eyes darting backwards and forwards interrogated everything all while his mouth chatted away. I stood there trying to imagine what could be going through his mind. The best I could come up with was "Ay Caramba! His underwear is everywhere!". Imagine coming back home only to find some body's shit scattered all over your room. I just hope I get my bond back, otherwise I'm not going to wash my clothes before hanging them up...