Photos via Rightmove
What is living in London like? Hell. Here’s proof, beyond all doubt, that renting in London is a nightmare.
Where is it? before you’ve really noticed it you’ve proposed on holiday and gone to their parents’ for Christmas and invited all those London friends – all those London friends you half-made a few years ago and started neglecting recently in exchange for the blissful bubble of domesticity – to your wedding, your wedding held at a marquee outside a country house an hour outside of London, because you don’t actually really like the city, paid for in full by your collective parents, the wedding, and you’ve both clambered onto the very bottom rung of the property ladder thanks to a generous stipend from their dad and
What is there to do locally? one day they come out of the bathroom, trembling, holding a small white pissed-on stick, and you feel your stomach drop out of you like a lift hurtling to the ground, but it’s good, the fear, it’s not the horrible fear, it’s the fear that nothing will ever be the same again, but you never wanted it to be anyway and
Alright, how much are they asking? then you both sit down and decide that, before the Baba comes, and you have both decided to call it “the Baba”, you should probably move out of the city: this is not a place – you both decide, because you have no real connection to it anyway, it’s just where you happen to live and work – this is not the place to raise a child. So you sell up and move to, like, “Maidstone”, and the exact day you move out in an expensive double-berth van some former art student from Leeds with too many earrings arrives in King’s Cross with exactly one suitcase and a heart full of dreams, and so the cycle begins anew, and again and again and again, forever and ever and ever, the cycle will go on, until the heat death of the fucking universe. This city desires flesh to crush and it will have it—
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