It’s week four of my relocation, and things are becoming more routine. I’ve abandoned my optimistic plans to be at the office before 10. Most of the boring and tedious bureaucratic nonsense has been dealt with – I’ve got my UK bank account, health insurance and pension plan set up.
One of my impulse buys this week – the local HMV has lots of good stuff on sale since it is closing down – was the Pineapple Thief’s 10 Stories Down. Strange coincidence then, to come home and find that it features a song titled Clapham – named after the area in which I found an apartment the day prior.
I’ve thought long about where and how to live. In the last couple of years I have shared a flat with friends and strangers and I’ve lived by myself. Flatsharing has been fun, and I’ve been fairly lucky with my housemates. But I’m now in my late twenties and I already spend most of my day around other people – lots of them. I have less tolerance for flatmates who need me to wear pants in the house during the spare moments I’m at home every day.
So I’ve decided on a 1-bedroom apartment, about 20 minutes from the office. It’s not big by any standard, but it is close to public transport and the high street and it is mine alone. It’s got a bed, a bathroom, a washer and a sofabed for visitors. Part of me objects to spending such a ludicrous amount of money on rent, but I guess that’s the price of living in London. I’ll still have to ditch some of the stuff I took across the channel with me since I won’t have space for it, but that’s okay. If I haven’t had a need for something since I packed it up 4 months ago, I really don’t need it that badly.