London – Landing on my feet
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Goodbye Australia – Hello Londontown!
With the address of a man I had never met – I left my job, super cute apartment, family and stalker ex-boyfriend.
With a backpack, $1000 – I boarded a flight to London. Grown Up Town.
When I peered out of the tiny plane window as Heathrow approached and was gobsmacked by the greenery.
Since I grew up watching The Bill religiously I had expected London would be a concrete jungle.
Luckily my new landlord ‘The Mex’ was super cool, had a very dapper apartment in Chiswick, a serious job and drank like a fish. Talk about landing on your feet! (no one ever asks about his nickname – I know but can’t say)
The Mex introduced me to pints, Sunday lunches, bacon sarnies, chip shops and curries. After no time at all my disco pants had shrunk, my sun-kissed skin was pasty white and I had an extra layer of fat to keep me warm.
Having outstayed my month free rental terms by about three months, I bid farewell to The Mex and moved into the craziest phase of my London life.
The Flat
A couple of weeks after moving to London not knowing a soul, I secured a job at an investment bank so I could pay for my board, chips and pints.
I found a flat on Fulham High Street sharing with three people. And Irish lady, a Liverpudlian and a chap from Hull. I was not a place you would invite your Mother, but it was home for the next few years.
I moved in on a holiday weekend and the housemates had all gone home for the three days.
I was happy to have the place to myself to discover the area. I had a tiny room with a single bed and a window and a door with a lock.
Everything was awesome until I could not work out how the toilet flushed. It was Friday and I was alone in an unfamiliar house until Monday…
Mortified – I spent the next three days visiting the local pubs with a purpose.
The Housemates
An Aussie girl, an Irish lady and two Englishmen walk in to a bar… and don’t come out for two years.
Our life at the flat was brilliant – no judgement, just laughs, booze and a lot of Eastenders watching.
We lived across the road from three pubs and there was an Indian Restaurant downstairs. Nuf said.
I have thought very long and hard about our time in the house and realise I cannot relay any of our shenanigans here for respect to the children of the original housemates and more realistically – due to my lack of memory.
Some hightlights
- Coming home to the entire staff from an Indian Restaurant partying in our living room;
- An exiting flatmate advertising her room with a roof garden… to access the weeds on the roof required two men to hoist you up and a mattress positioned for the fall when you needed to come down;
- Surfing on ironing boards. As the token Aussie – it was my job to teach the inmates how to paddle and stand on a board. At least fifteen ironing boards were replaced – the party trick obviously never got old. I’d never surfed before in my life.
Lifelong friendship were formed and well over 15 years later we stalk each other regularly on Facebook.
With the Heathrow Injection* well administered – I had ballooned like the moon, it was time to move… destination Scotland.
*rapid weight gain experienced by a non-British person upon settling in London, attributed to a busy schedule encouraging the consumption of beer and chips.
Did you experience the Heathrow Injection?