Friday, February 06, 2004
Chunky labrador-type isn't as slow as I'd reckoned. Quirky by the Broadway has gone under offer at the full asking price, before S had a chance to look at it. I've spent the last 24 hours working out where my computer desk would go, wondering where I should position the sofa and inventing mechanisms to get tea from the kitchen, down the void to the bedroom. Back to square one, for the second time in two days.
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Leg-stretching, parts I and II
I used to have to keep my hiking boots in the car, along with assorted other crap like a basketball and a few boxes of books, because there wasn't enough storage space in our first floor place. Not sure where they are now, but I would need them for either of the places I've looked at in the last 24 hours.
The first would be ideal for a car driver. The only problem being that the rest of London isn't, as our stint in an unmoving line of traffic on the way proves. It is a nicely-sized but unremarkable second floor place in a purpose-built block on Dukes Meadows, backing onto the river in Chiswick. Lovely spot, inoffensive house – big entrance hall that could fit a computer desk and even loft space - miles from anywhere. Not only a 15-minute walk from the route of any bus going towards work, but not a supermarket in sight. Chirpy estate agent, still living with parents in Chiswick, won't be getting any commission from me.
Friday morning sees me off work and trying to do my bit, a day before S sets off on an epic of house-viewing that will put me to shame.
However, even my day-off apathy is no match for Mr Apathetic, who works in Brixton and has a garden flat on the market at £165k on the Kennington/Camberwell borders. The photo on the website looks nice, I put in a call straight off, and Mr A has trouble motivating himself to make an appointment.
It's pouring with rain. The blurb that says a 15 minute walk from Oval tube is spot on, but it's pouring with rain and I'm really pacing. Mr A gets there a few minutes late, and takes a while getting out of the car. House is lovely – security gate before door and large communal back garden, oversize lounge with kitchen as an alcove, smallish bedroom with an Aladin's cave of "dressing rooms" (old coal bunkers) off. There is basically a walk- in wardrobe big enough for both of us, proper wood floor in the lounge, an arty resident who has put mirrors in odd places but to good effect. Apparently one potential buyer pulled out late because the place was too dark. It isn't, especially compared with our current place, which is still fine by us. I posit a "definitely maybe" and Mr A responds with the kind offer of a lift back to the tube.
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I used to have to keep my hiking boots in the car, along with assorted other crap like a basketball and a few boxes of books, because there wasn't enough storage space in our first floor place. Not sure where they are now, but I would need them for either of the places I've looked at in the last 24 hours.
The first would be ideal for a car driver. The only problem being that the rest of London isn't, as our stint in an unmoving line of traffic on the way proves. It is a nicely-sized but unremarkable second floor place in a purpose-built block on Dukes Meadows, backing onto the river in Chiswick. Lovely spot, inoffensive house – big entrance hall that could fit a computer desk and even loft space - miles from anywhere. Not only a 15-minute walk from the route of any bus going towards work, but not a supermarket in sight. Chirpy estate agent, still living with parents in Chiswick, won't be getting any commission from me.
Friday morning sees me off work and trying to do my bit, a day before S sets off on an epic of house-viewing that will put me to shame.
However, even my day-off apathy is no match for Mr Apathetic, who works in Brixton and has a garden flat on the market at £165k on the Kennington/Camberwell borders. The photo on the website looks nice, I put in a call straight off, and Mr A has trouble motivating himself to make an appointment.
It's pouring with rain. The blurb that says a 15 minute walk from Oval tube is spot on, but it's pouring with rain and I'm really pacing. Mr A gets there a few minutes late, and takes a while getting out of the car. House is lovely – security gate before door and large communal back garden, oversize lounge with kitchen as an alcove, smallish bedroom with an Aladin's cave of "dressing rooms" (old coal bunkers) off. There is basically a walk- in wardrobe big enough for both of us, proper wood floor in the lounge, an arty resident who has put mirrors in odd places but to good effect. Apparently one potential buyer pulled out late because the place was too dark. It isn't, especially compared with our current place, which is still fine by us. I posit a "definitely maybe" and Mr A responds with the kind offer of a lift back to the tube.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
After much agonising, flirtation and discussion we have decide to end our week-long relationship with PB and his garden flat in Acton. It took a second date, pre-work to see whether we would respect it in the morning, but the doubts started to flourish as the day went on.
Aside from the few doubts we had about the place – small, square, single-glazed windows at eye-level in the bedroom and lounge plus proximity to the main road – we didn't want to be rushed into making a decision by a vendor who was threatening to let if he didn't get the right price.
Late last night S and I came to the conclusion we weren't enough in love with the place to dive in and make a commitment. Well, we offered £167.5k just to see if he would bite, knowing he probably wouldn't accept below 169. S says PSB took it on the chin with no hard feelings but I bet he was straight off to buy a bottle of thunderbird.
On Monday, by the way, a meeting with a pre-pubescent mortgage advisor confirmed our budget around the £170k mark. Surprisingly we could take out quite a bit more, if we had the five percent deposit to back it up. But then the repayments would be more than the £1k per month we're paying now in rent, and which is only just comfortable.
Quirky by the Broadway
It being my day off I take a trip to see an intriguing "mews cottage" near Fulham Broadway. The property spec has no photo, and the plans have a square in the middle of the flat that says "void" in it. Apart from a small fear of inadvertent time travel, I'm eager to see the place, if only to find out what said void consists of.
The mews in question is really a large driveway, leading off the main road to what appears to be a fishmonger's. The roadway isn't particularly spacious but the house number I've been given is a lovely, white painted place with hanging baskets outside. The estate agent - a chunky type who has probably only been outside SW6 to go to the rugby in Twickenham or walk the labrador in Richmond Park – has got it wrong. We're next door, a grimy dark blue door set into a grimy wall.
Inside it's like Dr Who's Tardis. The ground floor is large and open-plan – half dining kitchen, half brick-walled conservatory and pretty spacious. There's a large cupboard and a shower room also above ground, then a set of stairs down to a smallish bedroom – and the reality of the void.
There is no natural light in the bedroom, just a square in the ceiling that goes into the conservatory-like lounge, with a banister stopping you from leaping through from upstairs and directly into bed. Labrador owner is honest – the bedroom is a little odd and the price reflects it. But, inside at least, this place really has character. S is set for a visit on Saturday – she likes quirky.
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Aside from the few doubts we had about the place – small, square, single-glazed windows at eye-level in the bedroom and lounge plus proximity to the main road – we didn't want to be rushed into making a decision by a vendor who was threatening to let if he didn't get the right price.
Late last night S and I came to the conclusion we weren't enough in love with the place to dive in and make a commitment. Well, we offered £167.5k just to see if he would bite, knowing he probably wouldn't accept below 169. S says PSB took it on the chin with no hard feelings but I bet he was straight off to buy a bottle of thunderbird.
On Monday, by the way, a meeting with a pre-pubescent mortgage advisor confirmed our budget around the £170k mark. Surprisingly we could take out quite a bit more, if we had the five percent deposit to back it up. But then the repayments would be more than the £1k per month we're paying now in rent, and which is only just comfortable.
Quirky by the Broadway
It being my day off I take a trip to see an intriguing "mews cottage" near Fulham Broadway. The property spec has no photo, and the plans have a square in the middle of the flat that says "void" in it. Apart from a small fear of inadvertent time travel, I'm eager to see the place, if only to find out what said void consists of.
The mews in question is really a large driveway, leading off the main road to what appears to be a fishmonger's. The roadway isn't particularly spacious but the house number I've been given is a lovely, white painted place with hanging baskets outside. The estate agent - a chunky type who has probably only been outside SW6 to go to the rugby in Twickenham or walk the labrador in Richmond Park – has got it wrong. We're next door, a grimy dark blue door set into a grimy wall.
Inside it's like Dr Who's Tardis. The ground floor is large and open-plan – half dining kitchen, half brick-walled conservatory and pretty spacious. There's a large cupboard and a shower room also above ground, then a set of stairs down to a smallish bedroom – and the reality of the void.
There is no natural light in the bedroom, just a square in the ceiling that goes into the conservatory-like lounge, with a banister stopping you from leaping through from upstairs and directly into bed. Labrador owner is honest – the bedroom is a little odd and the price reflects it. But, inside at least, this place really has character. S is set for a visit on Saturday – she likes quirky.
Monday, February 02, 2004
It’s strange how years of public school leave you unprepared for normal life.
A period of introspection? More a knee-jerk reaction on meeting Public School Boy, our estate agent for this Saturday morning, who is wearing a suit but no tie, as if it’s exeat weekend.
I’ve grown used to flash harrys trying to sell me over-priced square-footage. I’m not ready for stuttering honesty. After a week of exploring other people’s property I feel I know if the seller will accept five grand less without the fun being spoiled.
I want a speedy motor parked on a double-yellow outside the shop not a four-block walk through Acton in the drizzle. And I’m sick of being shown what’s what by people who have barely started shaving.
Not worth a visit
PSB has to wait for a senior colleague to show his people round a flat before we get a look. They are emerging, disgruntled as we arrive. “You’ll see for yourself – it’s tiny,” says miserable female on the way out, her mood not having been improved by a broken heel, which is causing her to limp comically.
It is, and it’s still a building site, on the first floor, and there is only a small storage heater in the lounge.
Next!
Bachelor-pad pink
According to PSB, this first-floor apartment in a purpose-built block backing onto the railway line isn’t that great – cluttered, in need of decorating and generally unappealing. Way to go, boy, sell that pad.
As it turns out, though, we are able to put our initial disgust to one side as we squeeze past the piles of papers and cramped furnishings and try to ignore the stale cigarette smell that permeates the entire place.
This is so clearly a bachelor pad it could have been designed by Neil Morrissey and Martin Clunes, with tin of lager in one hand and badly-cleaned paintbrush in the other, spreading peach-pink paint with cavalier amateurishness. It’s probably the sort of place I’d have if S were not there to keep me in check.
Absent incumbent forgot to measure the height of his kitchen surfaces before he bought a washing machine and dishwasher. Consequently they are sitting in the middle of the kitchen alcove, which opens onto the lounge. They are next to the sideboard, which divides the room like a breakfast bar but acts as an extension of the over-burdened desk.
But we have been so prepared for the unpleasant chaos that we manage to see the advantages of the place. It’s a little larger than many of the places we’ve seen, it’s well within our price range at a negotiable £169,950. To PSB’s delight, we’re making positive noises.
First serious relationship
The good vibes sustain us south of Uxbridge Road, as PSB tells us he’s a keen sailor, chats about rowing and, added to the job he did on the last place, makes me feel guilty for my initial assessment.
Despite the proximity of a main road we like this “garden flat” from the off. There’s a bit of a squeeze past the iron staircase that serves the upper floors to our door at the back, but behind the house sits a nice garden plot.
Location-wise it is great, with the bus to Shepherds Bush five minutes in one direction and Acton Town tube even closer in the other.
Inside there is a shower room and kitchen – big enough but not spacious – at ground level. Down a few steps is a large, square lounge of almost the same size as our current place. It is without nooks and crannies which means it is a little featureless but doesn’t dictate our decorating plans.
The bedroom is properly proportioned for our needs – S gets the side nearest the door while I get a couple of feet next to the wall for my accumulated tat and a radiator to dry my damp kit.
Downsides: small, single-glazed windows in bedroom and lounge, allowing the noise of the road through, and all the other unknowns that occur as you ponder whether to make an offer.
PSB might have to meet us for a second date.
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A period of introspection? More a knee-jerk reaction on meeting Public School Boy, our estate agent for this Saturday morning, who is wearing a suit but no tie, as if it’s exeat weekend.
I’ve grown used to flash harrys trying to sell me over-priced square-footage. I’m not ready for stuttering honesty. After a week of exploring other people’s property I feel I know if the seller will accept five grand less without the fun being spoiled.
I want a speedy motor parked on a double-yellow outside the shop not a four-block walk through Acton in the drizzle. And I’m sick of being shown what’s what by people who have barely started shaving.
Not worth a visit
PSB has to wait for a senior colleague to show his people round a flat before we get a look. They are emerging, disgruntled as we arrive. “You’ll see for yourself – it’s tiny,” says miserable female on the way out, her mood not having been improved by a broken heel, which is causing her to limp comically.
It is, and it’s still a building site, on the first floor, and there is only a small storage heater in the lounge.
Next!
Bachelor-pad pink
According to PSB, this first-floor apartment in a purpose-built block backing onto the railway line isn’t that great – cluttered, in need of decorating and generally unappealing. Way to go, boy, sell that pad.
As it turns out, though, we are able to put our initial disgust to one side as we squeeze past the piles of papers and cramped furnishings and try to ignore the stale cigarette smell that permeates the entire place.
This is so clearly a bachelor pad it could have been designed by Neil Morrissey and Martin Clunes, with tin of lager in one hand and badly-cleaned paintbrush in the other, spreading peach-pink paint with cavalier amateurishness. It’s probably the sort of place I’d have if S were not there to keep me in check.
Absent incumbent forgot to measure the height of his kitchen surfaces before he bought a washing machine and dishwasher. Consequently they are sitting in the middle of the kitchen alcove, which opens onto the lounge. They are next to the sideboard, which divides the room like a breakfast bar but acts as an extension of the over-burdened desk.
But we have been so prepared for the unpleasant chaos that we manage to see the advantages of the place. It’s a little larger than many of the places we’ve seen, it’s well within our price range at a negotiable £169,950. To PSB’s delight, we’re making positive noises.
First serious relationship
The good vibes sustain us south of Uxbridge Road, as PSB tells us he’s a keen sailor, chats about rowing and, added to the job he did on the last place, makes me feel guilty for my initial assessment.
Despite the proximity of a main road we like this “garden flat” from the off. There’s a bit of a squeeze past the iron staircase that serves the upper floors to our door at the back, but behind the house sits a nice garden plot.
Location-wise it is great, with the bus to Shepherds Bush five minutes in one direction and Acton Town tube even closer in the other.
Inside there is a shower room and kitchen – big enough but not spacious – at ground level. Down a few steps is a large, square lounge of almost the same size as our current place. It is without nooks and crannies which means it is a little featureless but doesn’t dictate our decorating plans.
The bedroom is properly proportioned for our needs – S gets the side nearest the door while I get a couple of feet next to the wall for my accumulated tat and a radiator to dry my damp kit.
Downsides: small, single-glazed windows in bedroom and lounge, allowing the noise of the road through, and all the other unknowns that occur as you ponder whether to make an offer.
PSB might have to meet us for a second date.
