Moving House

That is what they say over here – I’m moving house. I moved house this past weekend. The year-long tenancy agreement at 15A Ecclesbourne was coming up for either renewal or abandon, my flatmates Justin and Arthur had finished school and were moving on, so I decided to do the same. I was notified of all this rather late in the game so early August turned into a stressful scramble for accommodations.

Luckily for me, a fellow expat friend was also in the market for a new flat. Lauren’s rent was getting a severe bump come 1 September so we decided to live together. The prospect was exciting for me, since I had not lived with a girlfriend since the glory days of the Jenn/Leslie arrangement at Queen’s six years ago. As comfortable as my house was at 15A Ecclesbourne with the young lads, the chance to live with a great friend – and my surrogate twin in London at that – was an opportunity I could not pass up. The timing was perfect so we shook on it.

The London flat search, as I probably mentioned back when I moved here last year, is a tricky game. The market is dominated by the estate agent, a two-faced specimen who up-sells and racks in a truly obscene deposit that they have no intention of ever returning to you. But this is the game and you have to play it, so Lauren and I signed up with as many as we could along our high street and then started the flat visits.

Lauren took the brunt of this activity while I was up in Scotland but on my return we took it on full steam together with some viewings around Islington with the granddaddy of all estate agents, Foxtons. The three flats we saw were staggeringly disparate, the first a dump with stained walls and dirty carpets, the second a gorgeous family house with a backyard to die for, and the third a typical fourth-storey flat down Essex Road. When we learned that Foxtons takes a £350 admin fee we quickly decided none of these places were for us, despite the charming Leo who took us around in his mini coop.

Mid-week, midway through the month, Lauren had an appointment to see a flat that sounded too good to be true. It was a day-viewing because the place had just come on the market. Lauren arranged to work from home so she could be the first to see it and I waited by my mobile in anticipation as lunchtime neared. Basically, upon walking through the door, she knew this was it. She texted that it was amazing and was heading back to the estate agents to put in an offer. By 3pm the flat was ours.

Though our estate agents have already not been the easiest to deal with – the tenancy agreement has been printed off and signed four times now – we are happily ensconced in our new home. It is a truly adorable and large basement flat in a Georgian house right off Upper Street. We are both still in our beloved Angel neighbourhood, on our familiar tube and bus routes. We have large bedrooms, an expansive living and kitchen space, and a private backyard that, according to Dani, you could play a game of rounders in.

Within walking distance are the range of bars and restaurants along Upper Street, and we have already formed a first-name friendship with the landlord at our local, The Florence. Last night the adorable Ian brought us free wine and regaled us with stories of the band he plays bass for (we may or may not be going to their gig in a couple of weeks) and the organisation he is involved with that brings rugby to children in Africa.

If this set-up sounds too good to be true, you are probably right. I have been waiting patiently for the other shoe to drop. But so far it has been smooth sailing – besides the difficulty with the contract and the fact that, when the tenants above us are doing laundry, it sounds like a helicopter is taking off from the roof. There is also an abnormally sized cat that believes it owns the backyard but these are small sacrifices for a great roomie, amazing bed, outdoor space and a cozy local pub. I do hope this is the last time I have to move house for a while.