The saga ended with the seller insisting on needing three weeks to move out, which triggered a moment of blackout rage where I offered them cold hard cash to get the hell out of my flat.
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.
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.
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.
"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."
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.