Since this is quite a long post, here are some key points:
- Best way to find cheaps flights, I have found is to do a search on Lastminute.com
- Alternative modes of transport from Edinburgh to London are by Train (East Coast) – approx. 4 to 5 hours or by Bus (Citylink) approx. 8 hours.
- Plot a London Tube journey. Visit www.tfl.co.uk and use the journey planner on the right. gives approx. times and lets you know if there are any works or delays on any lines. NB: To plan using just the Tube, edit your search and scroll down the bottom and deselect the above ground train.
For the first time since leaving Australia, I was able to experience London not just as a tourist or a visitor but as someone who worked and lived there. Theresa and I have always loved London and it is definitely one of our favourite cities however, everyone we have known who has lived in London have always said your opinion will change once you live there yourself.
I picked up a short, 4 week, contract in King’s Cross at a publishing company. It was a very fast turn-around. As in — I met with a representative for the company in Edinburgh on Wednesday, received a call that afternoon offering me the contract and confirming I start on the Monay! I had two days to book flights, try and find accommodation and back the bare essentials.
Luckily I had my wonderful cousin who put me up for my first week. She lives in Fulham — quite a well known area populated by Australian travellers. Now my theory of travelling and living in a foreign country is to stay away from areas that are highly populated by the same culture in which you have came from, that’s why we decided to settle in Edinburgh rather than London because we wanted to experience the real deal, we wanted to work, live with and live around true Scottish folk. If we wanted to live with and work with Aussies — we could have stayed at home!
However, in saying this, being in a place that is densly populated by Aussies did have it’s advantages. For instance, I had my first real pie in such a very long time.
Note to anyone wanting a proper pie: This place is called Pie and Sauce and is a very short walk from Fulham Broadway tube station. Its’ parent company is Southern Cross Deli and they sell all types of Aussie food including Tim Tams and Milo.
Fulham turned out to be a pretty cool place, lots of places to eat and drink and it’s tube station was central enough to get to most places reasonably quickly.
After staying a week at my cousins (Thanks Kels — your a lifesaver!), I managed to find a room for let, at SpareRoom.com, in Islington which was only a 20 minute walk to my work at King’s Cross. The flat was just off the main street, Upper Street, in a very quiet and classy area. My room was a one-bedroom ‘cosy’ but comfortable one. My flatmates, a french man and a woman born and bred in London, were great. They were very welcoming, chatty and at the same time respectful of ones privacy and made me feel right at home. The room itself was advertised at £119 a week but for Monday to Friday only, which I found to be quite a common thing. Basically, business people who live on the outskirts on London will transit into the city for the working week and head back out to the family home for the weekend. However, the guys there were so nice they let me stay for the weekend as well even though it wasn’t apart of the original deal.
Islington’s High Street, Upper Street, is awesome! They have every sort of restaurant/food you can think of. From Turkish to Vegetarian Cantonese! It has such a vast multi-cultural vibe that bursts to life at night. There are cinemas, theatres, bars, retaurants, access to the canal for jogging. Everything to keep you happy, busy and satisfied all in the one area.
It had been two weeks since I left Theresa in Edinburgh. The longest time we had been apart since the start of our relationship. It was harder than I thought it would be. Even though we spoke regularily on the phone, I found the nights to be the hardest. I booked Theresa on a flight down to London for Easter Weekend. Theresa, being a massive fan of London, had already set out our itinerary of places we were to go to on her visit. At the top of her list ‘Harrods‘, her favouite shop in the world (other than the Hummingbird Bakery in the Portabello Markets in Notting Hill) and Brick Lane (An entire street full on Indian restaurants – where they stand outside and offer you all tyles of insentives to come and dine with them. Whether it be free bottles of wine, 25% your entire bill – you are guaranteed a cheap and delicious night!).
London’s underground is without a doubt, the best mode of transport I have ever experienced. However, we experienced what all locals of London had been telling us for ages “The underground is awesome when it’s working but a pain in the arse when there’s a fault or works being done”. It just so happened that there were massive closures all Easter weekend on plenty of the lines and as it turns out, it was quite a pain in the arse trying to get somewhere that has no tube access! So when we tried getting to Brick Lane for some delicious bargain Indian it was a no go. Instead, we opted to try one of the many restaurants in Isslington (I mean seriously, we had no shortage to choose from!). We ended up finding a Turkish Restaunant called The Ottoman. The Ottoman Restaurant was without a doubt the best Turkish Rstaurant we have ever been to. The atmosphere of the restaurant, the interior design, everything was traditional and authentic and the food was 100% amazing!! We ate so much that we actually struggled to walk home, it actaully hurt to sleep – that’s how full we were! But, it was worth it!! Definitely reccomend it to anyone wanting amazing value for money while experiencing traditional authentic Turkish cuisine.
Unfortunately, I was only able to stay a week at the flat in Islington. As I was only on a very short contract, the guys I was staying with let me stay as a filler person until they found someone they were happy with to let the room on a long term basis. Unfortunately for me, they happened to find someone sooner rather than later. So,on the Monday of the Easter weekend (Bank Holiday). Theresa helped me move my stuff to another flat I had found – this time in the Barbican area (the Barbican Centre to be exact).
Now, I had met with the lady (who we will call ‘Biddy’) who owned the flat (in which I found on Spareroom.com once again) late in the previous week. She was a bit older, maybe her mid-to-late 60′s, she seemed to be nice enough, a little bit wierd in the fact that she asked ‘do you like food?’ and when I said ‘yes, I like to cook and eat reasonably healthy’ she then stated ‘I prefer when people who stay with me eat microwave dinners, I don’t want you cutting carrots and using my kitchen’… So, I let that slide, I figured I would still cook but only enough for the night that I’ll be eating for. Now the price she was charging was close to extortionate. I paid £170 a week for only Monday to Friday. Why did I choose to stay there you ask? Basically, I had no choice. On such little notice, I was unable to find anywhere else. The B&B’s in the area were more expensive, even the nearby YMCA was £200 a week (that did include the use of their gym though). So I bit the bullet and we agreed on a two week lease of the room for Monday to Friday.
So when Monday morning came, Theresa and I walked the 15 minute walk to the Barbican Tower in which my new home would be for the next two weeks. I had agreed with Biddy that I would come and drop my stuff off at aorund midday. It was around 11am or just before when we arrived, so I was a touch early. I had called her phone a number of times but got no answer. I was starting to worry a bit, you see, old Biddy insisted I pay her upfront for the two weeks, so I had handed over £300 to her (ATM’s or Cash Points only dispense £300 a day so I still owed her £40) and I was starting to worry I had been taken for a ride and swindled of my cash! After several calls and no answer I decided to just turn up and use the key I had been given. When we arrived at the reception the concierge was very timid as he buzzed old Bid-chops room on the 18th level. A rusty voice, grumpy as all hell, answered and quite unwelcomingly told the concierge to let me in. In the elevator Theresa and I exchanged odd looks as even without saying a word we were thinking exactly the same thing … What the hell had I got myself into?
As the crankty old cow let me in, we could tell she was extremely agitated. We made our way to my room, quite a nice, spacious room with access to the balcony and a view of the London Eye in the distance.
We hadn’t got much sleep the night before (single beds are definitely not big enough for two people!) and were quite tired from our massive Sunday in which we treked all over London – we went to Harrods where we explored all the awesome foods, gazed at over priced fashion and actually ended up spending most of our time on the pet level looking at unusual outfits for dogs and inspecting the cafe that made cupcakes especially for dogs and stated on the labels “All food had been tested on humans”!
We ended our day at the Camden Markets (alwats an awesome place) and drinking pints in the sun by the canal!
We decided to sit on the bed in the surprisingly hot room (Cronwell Towers, were, in the 70′s, huge. In their time, they would have been seen as the ‘lar-de-dar’ of all places to live. Iconic in a way. However, being so old, the heating comes from the basment and the flat don’t have much control over temperature – that’s what Biddy said anyway…) only to hear a heated discussion coming from the lounge area. I made my way out of my room, as I was wanting to ask about the internet, when I overheard Biddy talking to her soon, around my age, saying “What’s he doing here? This is not right! I can’t have a bath or a spliff”. So I retreated to my room to tell Theresa but before I could get the whole story out, my door was pumbled with the titter-tatter of knocking … It was Biddy and she was not happy at all. She opened with a fit of rage “Your not supposed to be here. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. You said you would be here tonight! THIS IS NOT RIGHT!” and on and on and on. When I explained to her that we had agreed that I would come to drop my stuff off around midday and that I was sorry that I was an hour early she set off again “THIS IS NOT RIGHT! What are you doing here? It’s Bank Holday – no one works bank holiday – you shouldn’t be here. Your only supposed to be here during the working week. YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE. THIS IS NOT RIGHT.” and then left. Needless to say we were speechless, I was speechless! After gathering my composure and my thoughts, I said to Theresa “can you pack my stuff, I’m not staying here – I’m going to get my money back” and so I headed to kitchen where the smoldering beast lay waiting to rip another one of my arms off!
As I entered the kitchen, which was semi-open planed and had access to the lounge area where her son and his girlfriend were sitting, I calmly appologies about the misunderstanding but stated our agreement was based on a Monday to Friday and today, whether it be a bank holiday or not, is in fact a Monday. I was met with a fury that no man would want to be faced with from a 60 something year old crazy lady “IT’S A BANK HOLIDAY! NO ONE WORKS! THIS IS NOT RIGHT”. Nothing was getting through. Aparently Monday doesn’t exist as a day if it is a bank holiday. So I calmly said “I’m sorry this has upset you Biddy. This is clearly not going to work out, I don’t think I should stay here. Can I have my money back?” (Not really a question as much as a statement). She looked at me plainly and said “No. You can stay the two weeks but your not getting your money back”. I asked again, this time more firm. Her reply “No. What are you going to do? You can’t force me (slight snigger of a laugh). You can take me to court but your not getting your money back”. What was going to do? The crazy cow had my £300, she was refusing to give it back but at the same time she basically wanted me to leave until this evening! It was then that her son stepped in, a little timid but wanting to calm the situation down as it had reached it’s boiling point. He claimed we had both got off on the wrong foot and that there was no need to move out and even if I did he didn’t like my chances of me getting my money back. He asked if we would mind staying in our while we were there just on that day as old Biddy had planned a family day for the Monday. Without any options and no chance of getting my money, I had to comply, which was all we were planning to do anyway! When I got back to my room, I could see Theresa was fuming! She was like a caged bull, waiting to charge at the given signal. I could see fire in her eyes! She was pissed! So, against my will, I left my stuff in the room and we headed out for the day. We decided to take Theresa’s travel bag and that we would head straight to airport rather than head back to Biddy’s before she was to head back to Edinburgh. And that is what we did. So now I had two weeks with the she-devil before I got to go back home to my loving, and friendly, girlfriend and home.
Now, I know what a lot of people reading must be thinking – why didn’t I just call the police? Well, against my better judgement I had handed over the money without receiving a written receipt. It was a bad call in which I will never make again. I decided to use this experience as a learning curve. I now also had the upper hand in a way. If I annoyed her in anyway, she could easily get rid of me – just give me my money back.
When I arrived back later that evening, there was a note on my table apologising ‘for her part in the misunderstanding‘. She then knocked on my door and without saying sorry apologised.
The rest of the week was actually alright. We were cival to each other and actually didn’t see each other at all. One thing that stood out was everytime I came home from work, there was an overwhelming smell of marijuana. Turns out old biddy is a massive stoner! Which in turn explains why she wouldn’t (or couldn’t) give me my money back – she had just scored a tonne of weed! The difference was marvelous, when she was on it, she was great – she was friendly, chatty, somewhat slow and easily distracted but that was a nice change from the angry bitter Biddy I had encounted in the first 30 minutes of meeting her.
It seemed to be a bit of a routine – I would get home, flat stinking of weed, walk to my room and see her down the hall on her knees chopping up more weed into a bowl. It almost became comical at times. She knocked on my door (again), asking me if I could help her because “Something was wrong with my phone (shocked blank look on her face) – I can receive calls but I can’t make them …. What do I do?” and then getting distracted and ask if I knew what to do since her son had smoked so much weed that he now had a head ache “What should he do?” she asked. Possible stop smoking it if it’s giving you headache was my initial answer. Then when she mentioned he was “whiting out” and I said I hadn’t heard that term and that we called that “Greening out” because you had had to much weed – she then laughed like a school girl and ran off to tell her son!
The first week went reasonably fast and I had booked an overnight bus with Citylink back to Edinburgh. The trip itselft was around 8 hours in total. The bus was comfortable but here’s a tip – don’t think by having several beers the trip will go faster … It just doesn’t work that way! I felt like total and utter shite and turned out, as Theresa politely informed me when I met her for breakfast, that I smelt utterly rancid! *Sorry to the guy I sat next to for 8 hours smelling like a dirty beer mat*. Here’s another tip – when going on a Citylink bus journey, take an eye mask! An absolute life saver for the trip back down to London. You see, the bus stops every 3 hours and turns on all its lights for people to get off for the rest stop. If your lucky enough to fall asleep, these stops are guaranteed to wake you if your not wearing an eye mask!
My last week with old Biddy was alright. She took off to wales for a few days leaving the flat empty for myself to enjoy. I ended up going out one evening and taking some photos of London’s beautiful iconic settings.
Quite a lovely night indeed.
Things took another turn with Biddy when I asked about my receipt (I needed it for tax purposes). She kept delaying and even went as far as telling me to type it up and sign it for her! Which I declined. She also asked if I would mind if she put her friends address as the one I was staying at because “The tax department can’t know I am receiving money for people staying with me” which I also politely declined. I ended up typing the receipt on her computer for her and tried to print it when, coincidently, her printer wouldn’t work … Turns out she was out of ink and wasn’t that much of a surprise to her son. So I had to then print it off at work, and leave it on her table in a self addressed envelope (because she would be away in Wales and mighten be back in time to sign it). As fate had it she had to come home early and I managed to snag her signature before she could make up another excuse! Got you this time you sneaky old biddy! Turns out she also brought home her others sons key from Wales and he was locked out from his car and flat.
KIDS, DON’T DO DRUGS – THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS!
So my time was up in London, I had some crazy ups and downs. I got to stay in different parts of town – some good, some not so good. I was able to experience so many different things all within a 4 week contract! But as always, nothing ever goes smoothly with my travels … A little (or nto so) volcano in Iceland was causing havoc all accross the UK and Europe and luck just so has it my flight from London to Heathrow was cancelled! Luckily, thanks to the good people at East Coast (trains) I was able to get a bargain (Bargain my left foot!!!!) one-way train ticket to Edinburgh for £100!!! It was that or nothing! Who ever said that no body benefits from disaster?
London is still one of my favourite places, it has lost some of its shine in my eyes but I would definitely consider living there on a longer term basis and if I was going to suggest an area, I would 100% say Islington without a doubt!
