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...