Meeting London

So, last off I had found a temping job with ok pay and was hunting for a place to live in Shepherds Bush, London. Now it was round about, exactly this time that Pete was supposed to be arriving. Pete was the boyfriend I left behind when I left South Africa as he wasn't quite ready to up and leave everything. Obviously with such a fantastic girlfriend missing from his life, this soon changed and two and a half months after I departed from South Africa, so did he.

A week before he arrived I was sleeping on a sneaky air mattress with an even sneakier, lazy leak, on the floor of some Australian girls Kylie had met on Contiki - long story, and your morals of who you 'use' sway slightly with desperation. So I had started working and hunting around for some little hovel we could inhabit on a web site called gum tree.
After numerous dead-ends and the occasional weirdo and deathly boring inhabitants, I settled on one that had a lounge with a TV, a little garden, 5 bedrooms, two bathrooms and was available and a stomachable price. I had no conditions, I met none of the housemates, I was just tired of living out my suit case for the past 3 months and asking permission each time I wanted to borrow a teaspoon.

So met the frosty lady at the house and checked around a bit, as long as it wasn't missing, say, a roof I was bound to take it anyway as Pete was arriving in two days. But to 'hold' the place until we moved in and paid one month's rent as deposit as well as one month's rent up front, she wanted a deposit of £200. Hah. So I proudly scraped together £100 and said isn't that enough? Apparently not and as she pocketed my money she said she'd need my passport as a deposit. Little whench. So after arguing and struggling and badmouthing her, there was no other option - have Pete arrive and we both move into a hostel, or surrender your passport for two days. Gulp. So I thrust it at her, naming fictional judges and 'bobbies' who could take her down with one phone call and trudged off to work. She said we had until 10:30am to get to the house on Saturday to get the keys and move in and pay our money - which was the same day Pete flew in van SA af.

So at 5am I woke up and slinked to the airport to meet Pete (you can really only 'slink at 5 in the chilly morning). Then flight was supposed to arrive at 6:30am but when I got their all was delayed and it was only expected at 7:30. So I sipped on some cruddy coffee and twiddled my thumbs. Eventually the plane touched down then took an hour to find a free carousel to dump the luggage - Pete was the stone last person to come through at 12:30 after cavity searches and TB xrays. Of course in this time I had the land lord's assistant down my throat about how I'd inconvenienced her and what she could do to my passport. In my gloriously damp mood I told her where she could stick it and pondered, while I waited, what to do next.

Cut a long struggle short we moved in that day after coughing up a ludicrously large sum of money and went about meeting our new house mates. It was probably a good thing I did not meet specific ones before I decided as my decision would have been largely afflicted, but a pity too as on the whole we are really happy with our house. The reason for my initial concern was the first day, when the house was rather empty, a 70 year-old man marched down the stairs and toward the door. Cornering him I introduced myself and he roughly did the same before escaping -turns out those words are the first anyone's ever heard him utter in a year. When I told the older housemates I met 'Joe' they all blinked and asked who he was. But he keeps to himself, he has a microwave and sink in his room so never goes near the kitchen or the Lounge, and to be honest very few have ever seen him coming out of the bathroom, though we can only assume he must - but I do have my suspicions of bedpans and such. But he's not near our room so bed-pan away Gramps! So housemate number 1 - Joe, the 70- year old bookie who likes long walks on the beach and hanging out at gambling places.

Next there's Helen, the other perculiar housemate. At 28 she decided it was time to move away from mum and dad, went two stops up on the tube line and settled in the house. She studied something to do with landscape and fossils then went into publishing - something like the organising release dates and stuff for journals - really dull sounding. But she is quite too. And lives in front of the TV, with rather annoying habits like sucking her teeth so loudly you can hear her from the kitchen. Only thing that keeps her in our good books is that she's part of our quiz team - the 'answer-most-of-the-answers' part, and has won us meal vouchers, a case of beer and even money once (just £10ea). But yeah, part of the thick glasses, no make up and no drinking. Probably has a moon bag in her bedroom somewhere. Has all these old Hitchcock etc films, with a sticky label with her name and details in case they may be 'borrowed and not put back'. Bit anal. But fine.

Then there's the two French guys. I group them together because they spend every moment together, like a little couple - and we remind them often. Mathias and Gaeton (their silly French names) both work for Yahoo and were transferred across from France, oddly enough. They are really friendly and laugh a lot and it's fun having them in the house. They're sp typically French you imagine them in berrets, moustaches and painting palets, with french loaves under their arms. They buy all their groceries where we do but somehow manage to dig up a French brand for nearly all household ammenities. They also have a dvd player and play station in the lounge, which probably notches up their popularity points.

Lastly, and proabably everyone's favourite is a slick, funny-as-hell Australian guy called Phil. I've never pretended to like Australians much and have since come into contact with many loud and vulgar specimen's - such as one of Kylie's friends telling me 'I've liked so many guys recently, I feel like I'm on heat'. Pure charm. Anyway, Phil is a special character that you can't help but love - witty and hilarious, the whole house can forgive his rather sloppy approach to house-sharing, such as his 'special angels' he brings home every third night, and his mid-morning phone calls when he gets home.
And that's it really, our big happy home. Luckily the two bathrooms seem to work out with the number of people and I've come to be quite happy with sharing a house. Always people to tell stuff to and greet in the mornings, and I've even trained the Frenchmen to invite their friends over for a 'braai'.