When house-hunting, the system makes you its bitch. You can’t hack this. You just have to put everything else on hold and do what they damn well tell you to do. Keep your eyes on the East London prize.
Once we take on a mortgage, my expectation is that it will eat up every penny we ever make until the day we die.
We’re looking at small flats in East London, because who needs stuff anyway, right?
We want to buy in a “cool” area of one of the most expensive cities in the world. The latter fact has affected our ability to save. Plus, we’re both freelancers and banks really seem to hate that.
Last year, I undertook perhaps the greatest personal and financial adventure of my life: Producing, writing, financing, creating, and performing in a Fringe Festival production called The Hatter, which took me across the country to four cities I’d never visited—London, Ottawa, Toronto, and Saskatoon—over the course of two months. I kept some records to see what it cost me, to compare festivals in different cities, and to decide whether or not I’d do it again. Here’s what I ended up with.
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.
Where have you lived, Luke Bailey?