It is that horrible time of year again; it is time to move house. In London, that means ploughing thousands of pounds you don’t have into someone else’s pockets for the sole responsibility of being the middleman in a transaction that does not, under almost any circumstance, need a middleman.
Paying rent is bad, really bad, but it pales in comparison to the ‘agency’ taking hundreds of pounds off you for ‘admin’ that simple never happens. Living in London for 5 odd years and not once have I been aware that a single agent has ever rung my references, double checked my credit status or leapt from their seats when I have needed anything.
Of course, something that isn’t exclusive to London and utterly soul destroying is the monstrous ‘holding deposit’ we all must put down the moment we like a prospective place to live in fear (usually exacerbated by the agents cunning tongue) of it being swept away by another punter.
In most cases, that fee is a two weeks rent for the property – always difficult to muster at a moments notice, no matter the sum.
My friends and I, on the first day of looking, found a beautiful, spacious loft conversion in my favourite place in London, Victoria Park Village. Its bright, airy, closer to town and everything we were looking for. Awesome.
After a good deal of rushed deliberation, we decide it is ours and ring the agent with the good news. He is stoked, the first viewing and he is a happy man. What more could he ask for?!
Eight hundred fucking pounds is what he asks for, still with a smile on his face. By the end of the day, he says. “That is the only way to confirm you still want the place and that you still have the place.”
I must, at this point, explain; our agent seems lovely, honest and sincere. He isn’t the problem as much as he is part of the problem – after all, it is his livelihood and this is just how it is done.
Have you ever tried asking whether you can transfer the money through internet banking to an estate agent’s bank account? They say it’s impossible. Have you ever then tried to explain why you can’t ‘just go and get £800 out of the bank?’ They simply don’t understand, and now I know why.
I have no choice, because to the estate agents, it doesn’t matter what I say or do or promise, there is no sure-fire guarantee that I can’t or won’t screw them in the 11th hour. That is unless they have almost a grand of your money in its rawest of forms, in their pocket.
Nothing ensures someone’s loyalty like possessing most of his or her savings.
Cash is still the bottom line, the be all and end all of our economy. You can pretend to have money on plastic, you can make your possessions look more than they are worth, but there is no denominator to cash. It simply is what it is and it is always viewed in the present. That is why estate agents like it so much and who can blame them?
So, the bad news – but the frank and honest truth; I’ve used cash.
It sucked, I didn’t like and I really really wish there have been another way, but there really wasn’t. Not without losing our new, lovely home or letting my best friends down.
The worst bit of the experience, by far, was carrying that much money around in such a thief friendly form. It leaves you so exposed and so aware of your possessions – something that cards and pin numbers never do.
I’m not giving up. I consider this a set back and a due reminder of why I am doing this. I’ve woken up and I’m going to get this blog going again. I have another five months without the Queen. I can do it.
1 Comment
July 26, 2008 at 9:07 am
I found your blog on google and read a few of your other posts. I just added you to my Google News Reader. Keep up the good work. Look forward to reading more from you in the future.