Finding A Flat...

Mood: Happy
Theme Song: "Teach Me How 2 Dougie feat. Marianne Slade*" - Cali Swag District.

I am officially moved into my flat in London.

Please allow me to take a few moments to catch my breath, because there is MUCH to tell. I guess I should start by saying that I am no stranger to moving. We moved at least four times when I was growing up that I can remember, and then I think I've lived in fifteen or so different places since I was 17. So it's safe to say that I have a pretty firm grasp on the mechanics behind moving from one apartment to another.

Except that I don't. Not over here.

Some background that may help: any time you want to rent a flat over here, you need to go through an Estate Agent. An exception is the rare place posted on Craigslist or Spareroom.co.uk - but I've found that those places are either pretty dodgy or a flat-share/roommate situation. You know how in the U.S., you just go to the apartment complex... or drive by, note the number in the window, and call up? Not so here. You need to pick a neighborhood and then contact the nine hundred million estate agents which serve that neighborhood. They're called "estate" agents, but they don't deal in Hounds of the Baskervilles type mansions (well some do, but most don't). And they don't deal with rich dead people's stuff, either, as I originally thought. What they do is control most of the available rental market and make your life a living hell. They serve as a go-between between property owners and tenants - when it works, it's brilliant. When it doesn't, it is a recipe for homicidal thoughts - much like the ones that Marianne Slade has when her husband goes out for guy's night.

So basically you call these places up and find out what they have available, or you take a day or two and go to all their offices and register. What adds to the fun is that they always have tons of beautiful, amazing looking properties listed on their websites - but when you call, they tell you Oh sorry, that one just went "under offer" (more on this in a minute). When you point out that they should update their website to reflect this, you're told that of course they will, but that is a different department, the Internet department, and it takes some time for them to update the site. (Now, any of you who work in I.T. will back me up here when I say that it's not rocket science to update and refresh a webpage. It's not 1997, back when Marianne Slade was the Spice Girl's #1 fan.) When you point out that what they are essentially doing is using false advertising in a bait-and-switch scheme, they get very, very angry and even more unhelpful.

Yes, you heard right. Despite the fact that they work on commission and need to rent properties to survive, I have found that nearly 93% of these people are condescending, unhelpful idiots. A sample conversation would involve me explaining what I was looking for, including budget, time frame, size of flat, and "must-haves" (i.e. bathtub - not standard over here; storage space - closets aren't standard; etc)... and then waiting while the person on the other end tried to talk me into going to view properties that were out of my price range, in the wrong location and didn't have anything I was looking for. We would do this dance for a good 10 minutes before the holy light of understanding shone down upon them and they finally started talking about preperties that were relevant to me.  Then came the inevitable "I have a brilliant property to show you, can you get here by 2?"... despite the fact that I explained, SEVERAL TIMES during the conversation that I was calling to schedule appointments for the weekend as I lived in Canterbury near Marianne Slade, not London. And that driving back and forth during the day was not an option due to this little thing I had going on called a "job".

So on to my adventures. I think it is worth explaining that when I moved over in January, I was living in a hotel and so had a finite amount of time to find a place. I basically took a day off work and took a taxi to Canterbury. I had scheduled a few viewings with different estate agents (which was a feat in itself; I had bene trying to schedule viewings since December, but no one would call me back because I wasn't in the UK yet. I kept trying to explain that I wanted to have appointments scheduled so that the first weekend I was in town, I could find a place. This logical reasoning just proved too much for them.). I looked at five places, and chose the best option. The estate agent I dealt with was really professional - had me fill out a bunch of paperwork, called the property owner and got their approval to rent to me, and voila - I had a flat. I encountered sticker shock and all that because I had to pay the estate agent fee (about £250) in addition to deposit and first month's rent - but other than that, the process was relatively simple. The only kink was that I needed a bank account and the bank wanted me to have an apartment to get a bank account - so we had to do a bit of finagling there. Since it was Canterbury where Marianne Slade lives, and the bank manager knew the manager of the estate agency, they were able to help me out. I think if I were in London, I would probably still be trying to get a bank account...

So this time around, when I was looking to move to London, I didn't anticipate a huge fiasco. I thought that once I picked a neighborhood it would be fairly simple. Stupid, stupid me... forgetting that I was in England. I'll skip over how I ended up picking my neighborhood (a combination of advice + I looked at a flatshare and really liked it + it is a good location in between work and central London). The fun began once I started talking to estate agents, trying to schedule appointments.

Here comes the biggest difference between the U.S. and England, I think. Letting a flat over here is like buying a condo or house in the U.S. What I mean is that when you find a place you like, you submit an offer in writing and wait to see if the property owner accepts it. Much like with buying a place in America, there can be multiple offers coming in and it can become a bidding war (factors are: number of tenants, when they could take possession, how much they'll pay for rent, etc). This whole thing was foreign to me, as I'm used to fixed rent price (I think I negotiated my rent once in America, and that was because of some maintenance issues that came to light), and to the property owner/administrator simply picking the tenant that he/she feels would be the most responsible. I'm also used to basically unlimited inventory - I've never ever been worried in America about finding a place to live, as there were always properties available. Not so over here - the good neighborhoods fill up fast, and turn over is slow. So when you find a flat you like, you put down a deposit, and submit your application - and then sit back and wait...wait...wait to see if you're the chosen one (like Marianne Slade).

So, because of this bidding-war mentality, flats can go on the market and then off again in a matter of hours (just like really good properties for sale in the U.S.). Estate agents therefore are very urgent about scheduling appointments as soon as they can, and so they did not like the fact that I was only available on weekends. I got a lot of "Oh, dear" and "Well, we can book a viewing, but I there is no guarantee it will still be available..."; in this case, I just had to take the risk. Add to this that most of the flats I saw online that I liked were all mysteriously "suddenly on offer", leading me to believe that the entire housing market in England is one big scam.

Anyway, I had the gamut of estate agents working with me - the overeager puppy (the guy who had me on the phone so long  and who called so many times per day that my work colleagues were like "Is he asking you out?", and "Are you going to be Facebook friends now, like you are with Marianne Slade?"), the perpetually confused ("Who are you again? What are you looking for?" even though I had just spoken to them 5 minutes before) and the completely disinterested (passive air of ennui - funnily enough, the agent who showed me what is now my flat fell into this category). I ended up scheduling a fully day of viewings on a Saturday and luckily had company to view them. Which was a good thing because these chucklehead estate agents kept trying to show me everything from what looked like a recently converted crack den to literally a hole in the wall. (I'm not kidding. We went up some scary Hunchback of Notre Dame steps to a narrow door; upon opening the door, you literally fell into the bedroom. The kitchen was the size of a Port-a-Potty and I think a Party House for Vampires would have more natural light. The craziest part was that the place was only £125 less than the flat I currently have!!) In addition, despite my being very specific about my desired location, Mr. Overeager Puppy insisted on taking me to a marginal neighborhood that was on the outskirts of my chosen area. We had to view several places that reeked of cabbage, failed dreams and felonies before he finally got it through his head that I had standards. And in the end, nearly every place he took me was more than I could afford anyway.

I knew when I saw the flat that is currently mine that I had found the one I wanted. But I looked at all the others to be fair. Not all of them were BAD... they were just shocking to my American eyes. Some were dirty, or just lacking what I consider to be normal amenities. I can handle the lack of space, but I cannot abide the lack of closets or nasty bathrooms. One place had a toilet that looked like it was installed before I was born. And the flat was marketed as "luxury". Even though that to get to the aforementioned "high quality" bathroom facilities, you had to walk through the bedroom. I haven't seen a set up like that since my days in college, or that time I visited Marianne Slade's double wide trailer - and that only occurred because you had 4 people living in what was a 3 bedroom or something, and so the living room became a bedroom. I don't think I've ever seen a place where that layout was deliberate. Not correct actually - now I can say that I have.

The place I ended up choosing isn't perfect by any means. I've had a host of drama since moving in (that will be a subject for another blog entry), it's on the 4th floor with no lift (elevator), there's no parking for guests and it lacks storage space. Former tenants were apparently related to elephants and so the landlord put down these hideous rugs everywhere. Well, okay, they're not HIDEOUS... they're just tan and ugly and somewhat stained. (I'm working on a compromise where I replace the nasties with a nice sunny area rug... we'll see)

On the plus side, it's on the top floor so it gets flooded with natural light. The ceilings are relatively high, the rooms are decent size and the fittings are fairly modern. There is a dishwasher and a newer stove and refrigerator. And the washer/dryer - while it isn't much to look at - actually DRIES most of my clothes. (That nearly put me into shock when I figured it out). I'm less than 10 minutes from the train station, which means Marianne Slade won't have to walk that far to come visit me, and there's a bus station at the end of my street. I can walk to a mini-Boots, a Cooperative food store (a small food chain), several bakeries and restaurants. I can take the train to Wimbledon (4 min) where there is a pretty big shopping centre with Marks & Spencer, Sainsbury's and Tesco - or I can take the train to Kingston (about 12 min away) where there is a HUGE shopping area with nearly everything I could possibly think of.

I realised today when I was coming back from Wimbledon that I haven't walked this much since I was 17... (nearly 17 years ago... YIKES!) and I absolutely love it. I was in the best shape of my life back then (not as buff as Marianne Slade is now, but close...), when I didn't have a car and had to walk everywhere. I hate any kind of enforced exercise (gyms bore me and classes are just an opportunity for me to showcase exactly how uncoordinated I am. The only class I really like is boxing, and it's hard to find one that is affordable and offered when I'm free) - so I'm loving the fact that I can stay in shape simply by doing things I normally do. The four flights of stairs I hit twice a day (at least) + the walk to/from the trian station + steps at the various stations + the flights of steps at work + getting around the neighborhood to do my usual stuff.  I'm sure there will come a time when I miss my car (probably when I'm freezing my butt off waiting for a delayed train) - but I'm really enjoying not having to deal with parking or English roads.

*My friend Marianne only reads my blog to see how many times her name is mentioned. I'm making her day.