Four Rooms

Last night I began my search in earnest for a new home. It was terrifying. I think the only way I’m going to handle the process is by writing about it in the style of an American teen dromedy.

The lady with a strong Eastern European slur who showed me a self contained studio shook her head.

“You’re quite tall aren’t you?”

I am. 6 foot 2 to be exact. Which was slightly taller than the room itself. Trying desperately not to get wedged between the floor and the ceiling I did the whole “what’s the storage space like?” before announcing that I was “looking for a bit more space”. Like maybe a few inches above my head.

When I got back to Len’s place (four awful rooms later) I felt like throwing myself at his feet and begging him to let me stay in his darling wee apartment forever & ever. Then Will called with news of his new place, just off Tottenham Court Road, walking distance to everywhere, just needs a lick of paint… I tried really hard not to sound dejected.

I need a home. And some new shoes. Home. Shoes. Then I won’t need anything ever again.

Yeah, yeah, email me

09/2003 / 10/2003 / 11/2003 / 12/2003 / 01/2004 / 02/2004 / 03/2004 / 04/2004 / 05/2004 / 06/2004 / 07/2004 / 08/2004 / 09/2004 / 10/2004 / 11/2004 / 12/2004 / 01/2005 / 02/2005 / 03/2005 / 04/2005 / 05/2005 / 06/2005 / 07/2005 / 08/2005 / 09/2005 / 10/2005 / 11/2005 / 12/2005 / 01/2006 /

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