Photos via Zoopla
What is living in London like? Hell. Here’s proof, beyond all doubt, that renting in London is a nightmare.
Where is it? Camden, home to possibly the worst combination of people in all of London: goths, drama students, those weird 50-year-old "interesting character" types who are always really loudly saying in pubs, "THEY SHOULD MAKE A FILM ABOUT ME!", Hampstead-adjacent rich kids, people who walk in the road when they are drunk and then, finally, the cherry on the shit, "35-year-old lads who haven't realised their band is never going to make it".
What is there to do locally? This question has taken on a hollow air of misery since lockdown began, because it doesn't really matter where you are right now – what there is to do locally has changed to "go to Sainsbury’s once a week wearing a load of scarves" and literally nothing else. I've found myself idly fantasising about having incredibly tedious Saturdays to myself once all this is over: me, in Camden, after catching a bus to King's Cross and walking up the canal (a bus! Imagine getting on a bus!) (Imagine walking down a canal path without 15 consecutive joggers trying to run into you because they've never jogged before!) and going past the zoo before emerging, glorious, in Camden, which stinks. Walk over that bridge where the lad making bird noises lives. Buy some incense that, once you get it home and burn it, smells like someone burnt a frozen pizza in an unclean oven. Meander through the market eating some overpriced churros off a greasy paper plate with a plastic fork that somehow loses two tines as soon as you try to spike one soft piece of fried dough. Go to the leather shops and watch foetal little indie lads from small towns who have saved up weeks of their pocket money to do it buy their first leather jacket, carefully combed hair and a chaperone from their mum. Hit the market for some reprint T-shirt that you're unsure is ironic, post-ironic or just unironic. Hit the charity shops and buy an exceedingly bad book. Go the CeX, there is no worse vibe than the Camden CeX. Two quick pints in the intense canal-side Wetherspoons, then one pint in one of those weird upstairs bars above it with the low ceilings, then, as the sun gauzily sets against the sky, head over to the Hawley Arms, for either one exceedingly bad idea drink then home, or so many pints you forget your head is attached to your body and you emerge again, in a slick of your own sweat, cold with no jacket on the 4AM streets of Camden, shouting "hoo!" at the pitch-black sky. Subpar plates of Chinese food from the stalls which you have to eat really quickly outside your Uber before the driver lets you in. Fall asleep with your jeans on. What bliss it would be. What bliss to have an utterly shit day in Camden.
Alright, how much are they asking? £1,400 pcm.
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