{"id":87,"date":"2018-06-07T14:19:18","date_gmt":"2018-06-07T14:19:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.idealflatmate.co.uk\/flatmate-HQ\/?p=87"},"modified":"2018-10-10T11:04:16","modified_gmt":"2018-10-10T11:04:16","slug":"5-inhabitants-of-the-london-flat-scene-youre-bound-to-meet","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"\/flatmate-HQ\/5-inhabitants-of-the-london-flat-scene-youre-bound-to-meet\/","title":{"rendered":"5 Inhabitants of the London Flat Scene You\u2019re Bound to Meet"},"content":{"rendered":"

OK, some of these are a bit harsh. But honestly, how many do you recognise?<\/b><\/span>\u00a0<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

1) The guy who lives in a warehouse in East\u00a0London<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

How do you find a guy who lives in a warehouse in East London when you\u2019re at a party?\u00a0<\/span>Don\u2019t worry, he\u2019ll tell you! He\u2019ll tell everyone, twice, and make vegans seem self-deprecating in comparison!\u00a0<\/span>He\u2019s a graphic designer, he\u2019s a DJ, he\u2019s a filmmaker; an all-round art wanker who can\u2019t fork out for a pair of shoes even marginally less worn than the pair Moses wandered the desert in for forty years. But he will of course pay \u00a320.99 for an artisan concrete cactus pot that doesn\u2019t even come with a fucking cactus in it, namaste.<\/span><\/p>\n

Independent art magazines cluster his makeshift coffee table, because he loves art, by the way, and he doesn\u2019t fuck with Ikea. Vintage shell suits hang in the corner from an open rail, each one of them uglier, more offensive than the last.\u00a0<\/span>Says \u2018sound\u2019 a lot, along with things like \u2018making your own soap is very important!\u2019 and \u2018I live in a warehouse in East London!\u2019<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

2) Dan, the walking protein-shake who works in recruitment<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Dan featured in my last blog, shitting in a Betty Boop dressing gown \u2014 again, not\u00a0<\/span>in<\/i><\/span>\u00a0it, just wearing it \u2014 and, since art imitates life, he\u2019s reappearing in this one.\u00a0<\/span>After completing their Business and Marketing degrees, the Dans of the world flock to London in their thousands to pursue the age-old Fuckboy\u2019s Dream: a life spent drinking<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/b>C\u00eeroc in Madison by St. Paul\u2019s and Snapchatting the steering wheel of a pay-monthly Mercedes that costs them literally every penny of their 24k starting salaries. You know, the kind of guys who go on\u00a0<\/span><\/span>The Apprentice<\/i><\/span>\u00a0and say things like, \u2018I love money so much that when I go to snort my nosebag in Madison by St. Paul\u2019s I just inhale the whole damn note instead, Alan!\u2019 Business mind, you see?\u00a0<\/span>Yeah, he might be renting out a shelf with a mattress on it for a bedroom, which, yeah, admittedly makes it difficult for him to wank over nudes, but Dan has a Herm\u00e8s belt from Selfridges. All is well with Dan.<\/span><\/p>\n

3) The creepy old\u00a0landlord<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Generally speaking, London landlords are the worst shits in existence.\u00a0<\/span>They are the worst shits in existence, in history even, because they look at a 10\u2019 x 8\u2019 box room and conjure within its mind-numbing misery some fantastical living space for an actual human: \u2018if I put this spunk-stained, destitute-looking mattress on the floor, without a frame\u2019, they think, \u2018I can just about fit a stool in next to it! That\u2019s at least another \u00a3100 a month, if the craphole has a stool!\u2019\u00a0<\/span>It gets worse, though, when they are perverts \u2014 worse still when they are\u00a0<\/span>live-in<\/i><\/span>\u00a0perverts. And there are plenty about.\u00a0<\/span>If you\u2019re a flat-seeker who happens to be or look vaguely like a young woman, then believe you me: the creepy old landlord, in his shit Fleetwood Mac t-shirt and his khaki shorts in the middle of winter, he will find you. His eyes will linger on your hips as he talks at length of his \u2018terrific\u2019 Ibiza days and his model\/dancer ex-girlfriend who\u2019s moved back to LA, and when he asks if you consider yourself a \u2018party girl\u2019, that\u2019s when you run. Back to your parents. In the West Midlands.<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

4) The Young Professional<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

The Young Professional is obviously queen of pass-agg, and if you get on her tits by doing something scandalous like cooking bacon or having a poo she will disconnect the router so you can\u2019t send e-mails anymore.<\/span><\/p>\n

Imagine the house Whatsapp group! So many, \u2018guys, my travel mug from Oliver Bonas is wet even though I haven\u2019t used it since Wednesday, so something\u2019s not quite adding up\u2019, messages. \u2018Guys, can you be quiet if you\u2019re waking up between 5am and 9am? It\u2019s when I do my yoga, and how the fucking fuck am I supposed to master the Adho Mukha Sv\u0101n\u0101sana with all that fucking clanking, you actual morons? X\u2019<\/span><\/p>\n

As she sees it, whether you\u2019re 30, 22 or 4 years old, flatsharing is not the hallmark of a sufficiently successful career, ergo what the flip the point of life? The \u00a3115 blazer she bought from Cos is at best only masking her choking sense of failure and self-loathing, which she projects, inevitably, onto the well-meaning Northern guy who\u2019s just moved in. Of a morning, she reminds herself, \u2018this was not the plan, Nicola\u2019, because she\u2019s called Nicola, and she weeps into her sad Cath Kidston bowl of watery porridge.<\/span><\/p>\n

5) The white people with dreadlocks<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

It is high time the world recognises trustafarians for what they are: they are a millennial pandemic, and London is only the start. Take a stroll through Bristol, Thailand, Justin Bieber\u2019s house, and open your ears, sweet child, to the palpable war cry of white privilege declaring its allegiance to the counterculture.\u00a0<\/span>If you do happen to be flat seeking in what has astutely been dubbed a fuckwit caliphate \u2014 Clapham \u2014 the trustafarian is unavoidable. They\u2019re all artists, they\u2019re all writers, and they all look a bit like they do weird stuff with their period blood (e.g. rituals praising the god of patrimonial capitalism. Or maybe animal portraits).\u00a0<\/span>Imagine, if you will, Gabby: born and bred in a semi-detached house in Surrey, now going by Gaia or Euphrosyne or some equally shit name pulled out of an equally shit hat. Whack a crochet top on her bought from a Spitalfields stall called \u2018Gypsy Garms\u2019, add a boar-tooth necklace and fairy lights that she literally drapes around herself and wears outside, and bish bash bosh, she\u2019s a humungous arsehole.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

OK, some of these are a bit harsh. But honestly, how many do you recognise?\u00a0 1) The guy who lives in a warehouse in East\u00a0London How do you find a guy who lives in a warehouse in East London when you\u2019re at a party?\u00a0Don\u2019t worry, he\u2019ll tell you! He\u2019ll tell everyone, twice, and make vegans … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “5 Inhabitants of the London Flat Scene You\u2019re Bound to Meet”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

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