Friday, January 30, 2004
Not even with your granny thrown in
Wide Boy is on the phone trying to clinch a deal when we arrive at W’s.
“Tell you what, I’ll throw in my grandmother – well proportioned, conveniently located, all mod cons,” or something like that.
But as he hawks he casts continual glances across the office to his female boss, who obviously wears the pin-striped trousers and wide lapels. She’s not going to be happy with the results from his 6pm, but then she can hardly be surprised given the material he has to work with.
This second-floor flat in an imposing town house on Uxbridge Road is light, modern and recently refurbished, with all the white goods included. But by God it’s tiny!
Last time out I started wondering if my expectations in terms of size were too high, but I would challenge anyone with arms and legs to live comfortably in this place. There is an indent in the wall of the bedroom a couple of feet deep and four foot wide. An old fireplace? No, it’s the reason the sofa fits in the lounge.
WB adopts a forlorn air as he leads us away from his Lord and mistress. The feet-on-desk act is a front. And he knows we won’t bite. He’s going through the motions as he fills us in on the service charge and council tax. I feel a bit sorry for him but I’m not going for this place even if he does sweeten the deal with his relatives.
S is beginning to get disillusioned as we pick our way home on frozen pavements. If we had a little more money it would be a lot easier. I’m still optimistic for now. For a start we still haven’t worked out our mortgage figure, and there is no pressure to move out of our current place.
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Wide Boy is on the phone trying to clinch a deal when we arrive at W’s.
“Tell you what, I’ll throw in my grandmother – well proportioned, conveniently located, all mod cons,” or something like that.
But as he hawks he casts continual glances across the office to his female boss, who obviously wears the pin-striped trousers and wide lapels. She’s not going to be happy with the results from his 6pm, but then she can hardly be surprised given the material he has to work with.
This second-floor flat in an imposing town house on Uxbridge Road is light, modern and recently refurbished, with all the white goods included. But by God it’s tiny!
Last time out I started wondering if my expectations in terms of size were too high, but I would challenge anyone with arms and legs to live comfortably in this place. There is an indent in the wall of the bedroom a couple of feet deep and four foot wide. An old fireplace? No, it’s the reason the sofa fits in the lounge.
WB adopts a forlorn air as he leads us away from his Lord and mistress. The feet-on-desk act is a front. And he knows we won’t bite. He’s going through the motions as he fills us in on the service charge and council tax. I feel a bit sorry for him but I’m not going for this place even if he does sweeten the deal with his relatives.
S is beginning to get disillusioned as we pick our way home on frozen pavements. If we had a little more money it would be a lot easier. I’m still optimistic for now. For a start we still haven’t worked out our mortgage figure, and there is no pressure to move out of our current place.
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Snow-covered shoebox
It’s sprinkling light, cold rain as I leave home, but by the time I am round the corner at a Hammersmith estate agent there is an inch of snow on the ground, and just as much on my hat and coat as I jump up and down outside the shop.
There wouldn’t be enough room to make anything like that range of physical movement inside the flat we slog our way through the blizzard to.
On the second floor of a 1930s era block, it has a nice enough lounge but the bedroom barely has any space around the queen-size and the kitchen is like a cockpit.
Nice views from the windows, though, as West London disappears beneath the blanket.
No thanks. I’d rather deal with the elements.
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It’s sprinkling light, cold rain as I leave home, but by the time I am round the corner at a Hammersmith estate agent there is an inch of snow on the ground, and just as much on my hat and coat as I jump up and down outside the shop.
There wouldn’t be enough room to make anything like that range of physical movement inside the flat we slog our way through the blizzard to.
On the second floor of a 1930s era block, it has a nice enough lounge but the bedroom barely has any space around the queen-size and the kitchen is like a cockpit.
Nice views from the windows, though, as West London disappears beneath the blanket.
No thanks. I’d rather deal with the elements.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
Just spoken to a mortgage advisor for the first time. He's offering me a B-level service, apparently, telling me about the range of products on offer at NR. He's Geordie, about 13 years old, and is no doubt wearing a sharp suit.
"We've got Standard Base Rate, Off-set, Tracker, Cashback, Discount and Fixed Rate. Which one would you like me to tell you more about?"
"Erm". Toss coin. "Fixed Rate".
"Well you can have two, three, five or seven year fixed with £500 cashback. Which one would you prefer?"
How the hell should I know. You're the advisor. "Three" It's a nice number, not on either extreme. I get lost a bit here, although I've got some notes about fixed terms and obligations and flexibility. When he mentions the Flex I can't help but let my mind wander to the Dallas Cowboys defense of the same name in the mid-1980s.
The seven-year flex discount means that if you fail to keep up your repayments until 2011, Randy "Manster" White will personally come round your house and throw you around like he would have done a quarterback before the unnecessary roughness rules were toughened.
There's an payment protection charge of £54 per month, which isn't a standard requirement, according to Geordie 13-year-old, but you just need it basically.
Right.
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"We've got Standard Base Rate, Off-set, Tracker, Cashback, Discount and Fixed Rate. Which one would you like me to tell you more about?"
"Erm". Toss coin. "Fixed Rate".
"Well you can have two, three, five or seven year fixed with £500 cashback. Which one would you prefer?"
How the hell should I know. You're the advisor. "Three" It's a nice number, not on either extreme. I get lost a bit here, although I've got some notes about fixed terms and obligations and flexibility. When he mentions the Flex I can't help but let my mind wander to the Dallas Cowboys defense of the same name in the mid-1980s.
The seven-year flex discount means that if you fail to keep up your repayments until 2011, Randy "Manster" White will personally come round your house and throw you around like he would have done a quarterback before the unnecessary roughness rules were toughened.
There's an payment protection charge of £54 per month, which isn't a standard requirement, according to Geordie 13-year-old, but you just need it basically.
Right.
F's estate agents in Ealing is a haven for failed boy band members, who are this week modelling the haircuts favoured by Busted. Our man for the hour is Charlie Busted, who bounces out to his new Mini as if playing the guitar part to Year 3000.
As well as being a wannabe chart-topper, Charlie has ambitions for the rally circuit, as he scrunches his gears and flicks us round the back of Ealing Broadway. "Quick right, down into second, power, power ..."
Meanwhile he tells us about his thing for "Hoover space". You have to have a spot to keep your vacuum cleaner out of the way. I'd like to tell him about sociology textbook space, old rowing kit space (if I am buried in my kit box there will be space for me to take a few comforts for the journey), electric guitar space, general lazing about spreading space ...
Purple third floor, West Ealing
Our first screeching stop is in West Ealing, where a smallish flat sits on the third floor above a row of shops. We take the back route in, avoiding what Charlie tells us is a nail parlour. The flat nestles in the eaves of the building. Slightly emaciated current resident has a residence painted a light purple, perhaps a shade applied in the commercial premises below. The place is nice enough, but we would need a small hoover. Kitchen is an alcove in the lounge, although that lounge is sizeable enough. Bedroom a bit small – barely any space for a wardrobe. Nice bathroom but with no natural light. Ten minutes walk to Ealing Broadway station is probably on the limits of our commuting-on-foot allowance.
Art Deco ground floor with displayable bedroom
Charlie Busted having crow-barred his car out of the parking spot at the last place, he takes us up the road and round the corner to an Art Deco block. The communal front door has gleaming doorbells (including a bell with "tradesmen" on it – I've always fancied one of those) and a green bulb in the porch. "Glad it's not a red light," S observes, failing to account for one possible line of trade which might help pay the mortgage. We would probably have to apply for change of use, though.
Flat is nice without being breath-taking. Faux-floorboard lino throughout and barely any furniture. The front door leads onto a long corridor – perfect for Scalextric, another thing there might need to be space for. For a small flats there are loads of corners and just as many doors. Round a tight corner in mid-corridor is a door for the bathroom and another for an independent toilet. Charlie, S and I could do with a country dancing caller to negotiate our movements. "If you dosey-doe here you might be able to see if there is any double glazing in the bathroom while someone else is examining the wooly orange toilet cover".
Bedroom is small and a bit odd – empty but for a small stereo and a low bed – but the fun bit is a sliding door onto the lounge. Can imagine a John-and-Yoko style bed-in, while friends sit around talking about world peace, enjoy the use of the communal gardens and play Scalextric.
Early attraction off Hangar Lane
Hangar Lane? Yes that's the biggest traffic black spot in West London. Not sure who is most pleased when the anticipated traffic jam fails to materialise – Charlie, who has another appointment booked for seven or me, contemplating more than five minutes with my knees round my ears in the front seat of the Mini. The neighbourhood ain't great – it's Park Royal after all. But the road our prospective place is on is nicely sheltered from the post-work exodus. It's a 1930s semi, split into two and we're looking at the ground floor, where the current resident, we're told, is shortly off travelling.
I mention it to current resident, who says he's just keen to travel out of London as it's doing his head in. He has been expending his nervous energy on keeping his place clean but the effect is impressive. It's got proper wood floors, a decent sized lounge looking out on the front garden, bedroom the same size as our current one with a big fitted wardrobe, with current resident's clothes stuffed inside in a way that mine could be soon. He's explored putting a French window from the bedroom into the garden, which has also been split in half to make it about five yards wide but stretching back a helluva way. It's dark and we could get lost exploring all the way back to the garden seats, through the rose arbour.
We like it, but we've still got a million other things to sort out, like where the cash is coming from. This one is on the market at £185k. We can afford maybe 10k less than that and, unless everyone else is put off by the location, surely someone is bound to top that.
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As well as being a wannabe chart-topper, Charlie has ambitions for the rally circuit, as he scrunches his gears and flicks us round the back of Ealing Broadway. "Quick right, down into second, power, power ..."
Meanwhile he tells us about his thing for "Hoover space". You have to have a spot to keep your vacuum cleaner out of the way. I'd like to tell him about sociology textbook space, old rowing kit space (if I am buried in my kit box there will be space for me to take a few comforts for the journey), electric guitar space, general lazing about spreading space ...
Purple third floor, West Ealing
Our first screeching stop is in West Ealing, where a smallish flat sits on the third floor above a row of shops. We take the back route in, avoiding what Charlie tells us is a nail parlour. The flat nestles in the eaves of the building. Slightly emaciated current resident has a residence painted a light purple, perhaps a shade applied in the commercial premises below. The place is nice enough, but we would need a small hoover. Kitchen is an alcove in the lounge, although that lounge is sizeable enough. Bedroom a bit small – barely any space for a wardrobe. Nice bathroom but with no natural light. Ten minutes walk to Ealing Broadway station is probably on the limits of our commuting-on-foot allowance.
Art Deco ground floor with displayable bedroom
Charlie Busted having crow-barred his car out of the parking spot at the last place, he takes us up the road and round the corner to an Art Deco block. The communal front door has gleaming doorbells (including a bell with "tradesmen" on it – I've always fancied one of those) and a green bulb in the porch. "Glad it's not a red light," S observes, failing to account for one possible line of trade which might help pay the mortgage. We would probably have to apply for change of use, though.
Flat is nice without being breath-taking. Faux-floorboard lino throughout and barely any furniture. The front door leads onto a long corridor – perfect for Scalextric, another thing there might need to be space for. For a small flats there are loads of corners and just as many doors. Round a tight corner in mid-corridor is a door for the bathroom and another for an independent toilet. Charlie, S and I could do with a country dancing caller to negotiate our movements. "If you dosey-doe here you might be able to see if there is any double glazing in the bathroom while someone else is examining the wooly orange toilet cover".
Bedroom is small and a bit odd – empty but for a small stereo and a low bed – but the fun bit is a sliding door onto the lounge. Can imagine a John-and-Yoko style bed-in, while friends sit around talking about world peace, enjoy the use of the communal gardens and play Scalextric.
Early attraction off Hangar Lane
Hangar Lane? Yes that's the biggest traffic black spot in West London. Not sure who is most pleased when the anticipated traffic jam fails to materialise – Charlie, who has another appointment booked for seven or me, contemplating more than five minutes with my knees round my ears in the front seat of the Mini. The neighbourhood ain't great – it's Park Royal after all. But the road our prospective place is on is nicely sheltered from the post-work exodus. It's a 1930s semi, split into two and we're looking at the ground floor, where the current resident, we're told, is shortly off travelling.
I mention it to current resident, who says he's just keen to travel out of London as it's doing his head in. He has been expending his nervous energy on keeping his place clean but the effect is impressive. It's got proper wood floors, a decent sized lounge looking out on the front garden, bedroom the same size as our current one with a big fitted wardrobe, with current resident's clothes stuffed inside in a way that mine could be soon. He's explored putting a French window from the bedroom into the garden, which has also been split in half to make it about five yards wide but stretching back a helluva way. It's dark and we could get lost exploring all the way back to the garden seats, through the rose arbour.
We like it, but we've still got a million other things to sort out, like where the cash is coming from. This one is on the market at £185k. We can afford maybe 10k less than that and, unless everyone else is put off by the location, surely someone is bound to top that.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
It took five years of living in London, and three years of living together down here but my girlfriend S and I have finally decided we have had enough of spending large quantities of cash each month on living under someone else's roof.
The trouble is we've got high standards, mainly because of the place we currently live in - a one-and-a-half bed basement flat in Hammersmith, West London. It's a 20 minute walk from work, on three major Tube lines heading into town, is very close to the river (where we've both been involved in rowing) has a backyard (with S's holly bushes growing in it), plenty of space for the two of us and the utility bills are paid for by the landlord (hold on a minute while I switch another light on).
Oh, and the other trouble is we can only get a mortgage of around £162,000 which, with a few savings and borrowings, means we can afford £170k. Ergo: shoebox.
We need one bedroom. We'd like a second which could take guests and double as a study, even if it's small. We'd like to be able to swing a cat in the remaining area. I accumulate crap - magazines, books, sports kit - which needs housing somewhere. And we'd like the same benefits we have now - close to work, river, transport links; small garden/yard. Reluctantly willing to accept no-one will pay the bills.
We're going to start out looking at places around here, although we are unliekly to be able to afford Hamersmith itself, but are already accepting that we might have to branch out to a new area.
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The trouble is we've got high standards, mainly because of the place we currently live in - a one-and-a-half bed basement flat in Hammersmith, West London. It's a 20 minute walk from work, on three major Tube lines heading into town, is very close to the river (where we've both been involved in rowing) has a backyard (with S's holly bushes growing in it), plenty of space for the two of us and the utility bills are paid for by the landlord (hold on a minute while I switch another light on).
Oh, and the other trouble is we can only get a mortgage of around £162,000 which, with a few savings and borrowings, means we can afford £170k. Ergo: shoebox.
We need one bedroom. We'd like a second which could take guests and double as a study, even if it's small. We'd like to be able to swing a cat in the remaining area. I accumulate crap - magazines, books, sports kit - which needs housing somewhere. And we'd like the same benefits we have now - close to work, river, transport links; small garden/yard. Reluctantly willing to accept no-one will pay the bills.
We're going to start out looking at places around here, although we are unliekly to be able to afford Hamersmith itself, but are already accepting that we might have to branch out to a new area.
