I’ve been back in London for twenty-four hours. It’s shit here. Although being back home in Nowheresville USA is akin to choking on normalcy, I already miss the comforts it provided—the warm bed, the constant supply of food, the unconditional (yet perhaps undeserved?) love from my mother. It’s easy to get used to. And now I’ve been plunged headfirst back into the squat-o-sphere, and I’m beginning to remember why I left in the first place. The real world sucks.
During the time I was in New York my housemates and I were evicted from our former squat, after which everyone moved into a dingy basement flat somewhere near Elephant and Castle. When I arrived in London I was filled with feelings of both anticipation and fear at seeing our new home. I had gotten mixed reviews from housemates (“tolerable” / “fucking freezing” / “basement of hell”), so I was excited to judge for myself.
After trudging though rainy south London with my giant suitcase for nearly a half hour looking for the new place, I finally found the quaint / destroyed little oasis. As instructed by Hannah, I fished the front door keys out of the rain-soaked tampon box hidden underneath a nearby shrub, and set foot into Squallyoaks 4 (or is it 5? I’ve lost count).
The place is intense. All together there’s two bedrooms, a kitchen, a nonworking shower and a really scary, fucked-up looking toilet. However, one of the bedrooms looks like the ceiling is about to fall through, so at the moment it’s being used as a storage closet while all five occupants share the other. Though I admit the prospect of sharing a tiny bedroom with four of my besties is oddly intriguing, the reality of it is hell. I’ve only slept here one night and already there have been countless fights: What TV shows to watch, what time to go to bed, how early in the morning people can make noise (according to Kerri no earlier than 2pm)—no one can agree on anything. It’s not looking good.
Here are some pics I took of new abode. Decide for yourselves.
This is the main room. Hannah, Darren, Bunny, Kerri and myself all share this space. It’s not so bad looks wise, but the house is really old and hard to heat. Last night I woke up at 4am shivering and had to wrap towels around my feet for warmth.
This is the kitchen. Not too shabby.
More kitchen utensils than we’ve ever had!
This is the shower, which doesn’t work, but I wouldn’t attempt even if it did.
And this scary looking thing is the toilet. Looking at this photo makes me sort of sad about my life. Like, is this where my life is headed? Down this moldy, possessed-looking toilet? I need help.
I don’t know how much longer I can realistically stay here. I’m thinking about moving into a different place—a disused Chinese food restaurant which my friend Matthew Stone is thinking of squatting. Although I went to visit it yesterday and the place smelled intensely like fish. Not to mention the only thing in there was a pair of sexy lingerie which looked like it was meant for a toddler, so that sort of freaked me out. As of now, I’m still undecided.
There’s no place like home… there’s no place like home… there’s no place like home…
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