Advertisement
Had: Five conversations lasting more than five minutes
Weather: Drizzly and generally quite shitWhitechapel was tough. There were a lot of no's very early on, all of them expressed in a way that didn't instill me with much confidence for how the rest of the week might go. After a while, I did manage to get into a conversation with one lady, who wasn't able to host me but did very kindly pawn me off to a neighbor three doors down. "It's a student house," she explained, promisingly.A guy named Jack opened the door. He was around my age and seemed sympathetic to my fictitious cause. We built up a bit of a rapport and he told me to keep looking, but to come back in an hour or so if I had no luck, with the vague commitment that they'd sort something out. I went to the chicken shop next to the station, ate some chicken and walked straight back.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Had: Three conversations longer than three minutes
Weather: Still raining and coldOne big problem with Shoreditch was the lack of homes with front doors. Soliciting a bed through an intercom is always going to be a no, unless you happen to chance upon a psychopath who wants to take your skin and use it to wallpaper their top floor flat. Which isn't really ideal in the grand scheme of things.Knocking on any door I could, one lady told me through the letter slot that she'd call the police. Another kept saying that she really wanted to help, but that because she worked from home it would be difficult. I nodded unconsciously, before suggesting that this was actually a pretty ideal situation—she was in, and I was looking for somewhere to be in. And then I stopped mid-sentence. This wasn't a debate. She was a lady living by herself who understandably didn't want some creepy weirdo sleeping over.
Advertisement
Advertisement
Weather: Mild and dryMy Brixton door-knocking experience was very brief; I was only on the streets for a total of seven minutes.The first house I went to belonged to a 28-year-old IT systems manager who didn't want his real name to be searchable, so let's call him Bill Peterson, because that's a kind-sounding name for a very kind man. I was knocking on his neighbor's door when he opened his. I explained my made up situation and he let me in."I saw you skulking around and thought, 'Who is this chap?' My initial thought was aggression," he told me. "You were standing there looking tired, distressed and emotional. I guess hearing your story and seeing the way you looked changed the situation pretty much straight away."(Not to negate Bill's incredible generosity, but I don't think I looked all that awful tbh.)"I thought, OK, he's probably really going to struggle getting anywhere in Brixton. So I said, 'If you can't find anywhere and it's late, you're welcome to crash."
Advertisement
Weather: Cold but generally kind of fineGolders Green was always going to be difficult. It was a Sunday, a night where it's traditional for people to be gearing up for a week at work/not hosting strange men in their home. It's also a residential area with a lot of families, so I didn't have high hopes for coming across many from the demographic that had so far been the most receptive: single men my age. The area did, however, have a lot of front doors.My first conversation was with a doctor of some description, who had an in-house practice. He invited me into his office for a consultation. I declined. He suggested I try a Buddhist commune down the road.I kept knocking for three streets, until I reached the home of a Japanese family. The door was opened by a 12-year-old boy and his mother. His mother seemed uncomfortable, which was understandable, and told me that it wouldn't be possible to have me to stay. I thanked her for her time and started walking away.
Advertisement
Weather: Cold, windy, and shit
Advertisement