During the first heady days of my moving to London, I texted this American guy I didn’t know very well and excitedly told him about how my rent was going to be reduced by £50 a month because I had chosen the smallest room, and he said, “You’re way too excited about that. Let me buy you dinner.” I knew he was one of the good ones.
“I don’t generally tell people that those are the things that make it harder for me, but he also hadn’t bothered to ask about the difficulty of getting in. Which I think is typical of people who don’t have disabilities and don’t realize the extra difficulty that many of us face in terms of access to work, transport and often just everyday life activities that many people take for granted.”
We’re looking at small flats in East London, because who needs stuff anyway, right?
Stocking up on GBP became my new hobby.
I moved into my first apartment, one block off campus, the summer after my sophomore year in college. The unit was on the upper-floor of a craftsman-style duplex, with two real bedrooms and three pseudo-bedrooms that were actually converted sun porches, which were lovely and light-filled in the summer, but terrifyingly cold during the winter.