Foxxie III

Third and almost last chapter of my adventures in my lovely third London house. First part here and second part here.

I get back from my holiday and I meet up with Daisy the following day. She is waiting for me on a tiny Japanese restaurant by Earls Court station. I order something similar to spring rolls and we start discussing our situation.

Me – Look, just for the two months we have left I think it's just better if I am not in the contract. I don't think you are trying to scam me any more, and you have seen already that I didn't run away with your money, so if that's OK with you, I pay you and you pay the agency, just like we have been doing.

EXPLANATION

The filthy little bastards from the agency were not only going to charge me 120 pounds for putting me on the contract, but were also going make Daisy pay a more than 400 pounds fee for the tenant change. You may be thinking that this is because the situation is giving them some kind of work. It's not. Daisy is the one showing the flat to potential tenants, it's her doing all the management work. I haven't even met the agents. I truly wouldn't mind much if these people suffered some tragic accident.

Furthermore, this sudden change of heart from the landlady, if it leads to my immediate leaving, will force Daisy to pay double rent for two months, because she is already installed in another flat. That is, for the European people out there, more than two thousand euros a month in rent. A lot of people just can't afford that kind of money.

END OF EXPLANATION

Daisy seems to be super relieved.

Daisy – You would be doing me the biggest favour ever, because obviously I'm not going to find anybody to rent the room to just for these two months, so if you don't stay I would be paying for that rent. Also, the landlady is perfectly fine with you staying instead of me. Everything should be fine.

Me – The only problem is that I can't wait until the end of the two months to start looking for a new place; I can't risk it. So I'll probably pay you just one month, I doubt I'll be able to stay longer than that.

Daisy – No worries, you just pay for the days you stay. I'm so sorry you are in this situation, with all the bad experiences you've already had with the other flats. I was hoping this would be the good one for you.

This girl might actually sell kidneys in the black market after all, what do I know, but she genuinely looks like a good person. We drop the subject, I tell her about my holiday in San Sebastian and she tells me about London film festival. We decide we have to go to the cinema or for coffee one of these days.

Daisy - The girls want to talk to you when you get home, I guess to see how you guys are going to deal with all this.

Me – Yeah, well, I'll tell them about what we have decided. I don't really know what they can say about it, it's not like I have a choice here. I have to be out of there in two months, just like them.

This is one of those moments in which you think things can't get any worse, but then you realize it's me we are talking about, so you decide to wait and see what happens.

I get home and hear Foxxie and Muggie talking on the couch.

I stick my head in the door while taking my coat off.

Me – What a mess. I take this off and then we can talk -I disappear in the corridor to drop my stuff in my room and go back to the living room-. Daisy has told me you know about the whole situation -I sit on a chair-. We've been talking and... -I tell them about the conversation. That I'm going to keep paying through her- …the problem is that I can't stay for two months, I have to start looking soon. I'd like to stay so she doesn't have to pay extra, but I just can't afford waiting for too long and then not finding a place in time. This situation sucks.

Foxxie and Muggie have listened to my monologue in silence. None of the things I've just said matter in the slightest; what Foxxie says now are studied words that they have planned to say before I got home.

Foxxie – Well, you not being in the contract was OK at the beginning because it was a temporary situation, but I am no longer comfortable with you staying here if your name is not on the papers.

Uhm?

Me – What? You want me to move like.. now?

Foxxie – Well, not now, now. But as soon as possible.

I guess we now know who the owner of the mug is.

Foxxie – Is this just my opinion? I don't know if I'm the only one thinking this -she looks at Muggie. Please. Like they haven't rehearsed all this already-.

Muggie – Yes, sure, I am not comfortable either... the sooner you start looking, the better. It's just the best for everyone.

The best for everyone!!??

No, you whore. It's the best for you and your brat friend; you are kicking me out of the house with my energy almost exhausted and you are putting one of your friends in a serious financial situation. Sluts.

With the shock of having these two little prostitutes kicking me out for absolutely no reason, I tell them that if they want to say anything related to all this mess they know where to find me and I go to my room. This is not only amazing because they are asking me to leave without any kind of valid reason in spite of them perfectly knowing about my history and about me being about to run out of patience regarding London housing. Nor because Daisy is about to pay double rent for two months in a city whose renting numbers can easily take away 40% of your salary. This is deplorable because these two witches claim to be Daisy's friends. Them being two slappable bitches with me is bad enough, but getting a friend in serious economic trouble is simply unbelievable.

And don't think that we had some kind of problem while living together. I don't even think they were at all uncomfortable with the you're-not-in-the-contract issue. I believe they just felt like living on their own and knew Daisy would pay because she was tied to a contract. And not only this, they didn't even tell her what they were about to do.

I close my door with a pretty consistent trauma and thinking whether I shouldn't start considering taking a plane and going back to Spain, or at least to some other city that is not so freaking ungrateful. There are some things I thought I would never experience in my life and one of them is being kicked out of my house. I can't say London is not providing me with surprising new experiences.

I grab my phone. I have the depressing duty of telling Daisy that she will have to pay a lot of money in the upcoming months and that her friends are probably not their friends at all. I open whatsapp.

Me – Daisy, hi. I'm so very sorry but I have to move out as soon as possible, the girls don't want me to stay.

Daisy – WTF?????????? I'm shopping, give me five minutes and I'll call you.

Me – WTF, yes, that is the definition.

Daisy – They can't do that. It's my room and you are my guest and the landlady is OK with you staying there. You can stay as long as you want.

Well, this is technically correct. These girls don't really have any right to decide whether I can stay or not; the thing here is that living with two people who want you out of there is extremely unpleasant and, what is more important, the doors don't have a lock. They could get in my room while I'm at work and throw all my stuff out the window, and I would be powerless about it.

I realise it doesn't really make sense to be shocked. From the beginning they were behaving like the flat was theirs and like it was them and not Daisy choosing who would stay and who wouldn't. That first day having coffee with them it was clear that the one making the decisions there was Foxxie, Muggie was going to be OK with whatever she said and apparently Daisy didn't count because she was no longer going to live there. Also, I must say that I thought that Foxxie was a bitch from minute one, but about Muggie I just thought she was thick as a brick, not a bad person. She fooled me well.

Five minutes pass and Daisy calls me, half angry, half shocked, and tells me again that I can stay as long as I want, that these two don't have any saying about it.

Daisy – I just can't believe this!! I'm just baffled!! I should put a homeless man in there. It's my room and I can bring whoever I want; I should tell a homeless man to come stay for free for two months. Even if he destroys the house and I lose my deposit it would be worth it.

For a second there I have the impression that if I encourage her a little she will actually go to a crack house to make some new friends. Anyway, I explain why me staying there more than the absolute necessary is not a good idea and we promise to keep each other posted.

In the background, I hear Foxxie and Muggie guffawing at whatever they are watching on TV. This is why I like living in a country in which it's not usual to have guns at home.


I'll tell you the end of this on the next and last post. I still have some hatred left.

Foxxie II

You can read Foxxie I here. Now let me tell you the second part of this story:

Before moving in I have to go to the flat, because Foxxie and Muggie are nervous about having a new housemate and they want to know me a little. I have coffee with the three of them and that's when I learn that Foxxie works in human resources and that she is one of those professional, independent women that have a glass of wine in the living room while still wearing their jewellery. The rejection this girl makes me feel and the sensation that she is an entitled bitch are something instantaneous, but she is actually nice, so I think that all this might be just unjustified prejudging.

After convincing my soon-to-be flatmates that I am not a psychopath, I grab all my things and move into the ridiculously small room that used to be Daisy's. The place has carpeted floors, which I find extremely disgusting, but apart from that the house is pretty great.

It's interesting to see how people live. You get to know a lot about them. About Foxxie and Muggie I learn that they like to eat healthy:

And that they are plant lovers:

The first days Muggie is not around, so I only get to talk to Foxxie, who is absurdly kind to me. I never get any actual answers because every factor in the universe can be bent to my will.

Me – Do you guys share the milk?

Foxxie – We can share if you want.

…

Me – Ehm.. better not; I drink a lot of milk -this is from before I knew UK milk sucks-, so you would be running out all the time because of me.

Foxxie – Then we don't share, not a problem.

OK. Cool. Purely based on prejudgements and intuition I deeply dislike this girl, but it looks like she is really making an effort. Maybe I'm wrong and she is a good person.

We even have one or two decent conversations in the sofa or in the kitchen. I don't really see the relationship flowing much, but well, the girl is nice.

And then Muggie arrives.

Muggie asks me how I'm settling in, she gives me sightseeing tips and in general she is super nice. She has what must be the most annoying voice pitch in the entire world, she repeats a pet word in every single sentence she pronounces -YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH- and she looks like she has approximately three and a half brain cells, but she is really really nice.

But!

I start to see the real Foxxie!

As soon as Muggie is an active part of the flat, Foxxie starts to openly ignore me. The feeling I get is that she talked to me before because there was no one else and she was bored, so as soon as someone else has arrived she has just forgotten about my existence. Muggie is kind, but when they are together they don't pay the slightest attention to me.

I start to feel extraordinarily out of place. It's uncomfortable for me to be in the living room because I am evidently interrupting my flatmates' long sessions of hysterically laughing with the adventures of Carry Bradshaw and her glamorous and sexually active friends.

It's not that the idea makes me angry; they are friends and don't know me at all; it makes sense. But it's still annoying to live with two people who want to be on their own all the time and who think your place is anywhere but with them. Moreover, it doesn't look like they are trying too hard to include me.

Anyway, September arrives and I go to San Sebastian for ten days. While being there, Daisy contacts me.

The landlady has decided she won't be renting the flat any more. That when the two months that are left in the contract are over, the girls and I have to get out.

Well, screw you too, landlady.

As it turns out, the law forces landlords to give six months in the house to the people who just signed a contract for their property. That means that if they put me in the contract now, in two months, when it's time for me to leave, I can chain myself to a radiator and just refuse to leave altogether. So the landlady says that she is not willing to risk it, that she won't put me in the contract at all, not even for those two months. And, in any case, in two months tops I will be needing a new place to live.

How, for God's sake, is it possible that I am so bloody unlucky with London housing? It is seriously something to think about already.

Third and second-to-last chapter of this mess next week. Be happy.

Foxxie I

A few months ago I went for dinner with some colleagues. There was like fifteen of us, but I was in a conversation with Pirelli, who was talking at the top of his lungs because we were at a pub and it was impossible to hear anything.

Pirelli grabs a fry and continues yelling above the music about how on Earth I can be so unlucky regarding the housing subject and in general about the bitter world of flatsharing.

Pirelli – I have a flatmate who won't stop eating my bananas. And it gets on my nerves. The other day I was so pissed that I got into the whatsapp group I have with my seven housemates and wrote “Who ate my fucking bananas??!! Again!!!” and they all started replying: “not me. Me neither. Wasn't me either”. And in the end, who's left? The Italians. The Italian fucking couple, who eat all my food. I know it's a cliche, but shit, every time someone goes around stealing food, it's the fucking Italians!

Two things I have to say here. First one is that this looks like a monologue because I'm laughing so hard I can't even say anything; second one is that this man, in spite of his South Korean genetics, is from Milan.

Pirelli – And look, if these guys one day grab something because they need it, it's OK. If this dude is lacking potasium so hard that he's gonna have a stroke, I can give him the fucking banana. But it's not like that, they are always eating my food. And it gets on my fucking nerves.

In this conversation, oh how naive I am, I tell Pirelli that I haven't actually had any problems with the people I have lived with. That it is one of the few things that have not been an utter disaster.

Well, I'm going to introduce you to my new set of flatmates.

First of all, let me show you the stuff they have around the house.

The first thing is this mug:

That reads:

SLUT'S MUG

Even while I'm drinking this, I'm thinking about cock

The second thing is this inflatable doll that they keep in the living room, behind a closet:

Her name is Foxxie and they stole it from a club at a hen party. The name comes from the fact that Jamie Foxx was the DJ that night. London things, I guess.

To this gorgeous collection we can add fridge magnets featuring chicks in a thong:

And prostitutes:

About the owners of all this stuff I am going to talk about.

Don't get me wrong, all these things wouldn't have any kind of relevance if we were talking about someone else. It's just that I find the self-referencing poetry of these two sluts having all this material related to their profession hilarious.

Oh, sorry. Spoilers.

So it's easier to remember their names, let's name these girls Foxxie, like the doll, and... uhm... Muggie.

Let's start from the beginning.

After staying in a couple of hotels, a house that I had to run away from because it was infested with rats and cockroaches, some friends' house and another house managed by some kind of mafia (my life in London has not been easy so far), I end up in a seventh floor, five minutes away from the tube station, in a wonderful area and in which I will only have to share with two girls. Australians, with a job and apparently pretty nice.

The contract is for three months and the landlady is planning on extending it for another year when those three months pass. For me this is ideal, because after being trapped by a six-month contract in a studio full of rats, what I need is a place I can flee if anything goes wrong. And if everything is fine I can still stay for another year, so it's perfect.

I tell Daisy, who is showing me around, that I'll take it. She is the current tenant and wants to go live with a friend, so if I take the room I would replace her in the contract and she would be free to fly away to her new lovely house; therefore if I take it I'll be doing her a huge favour. She gets happy as a clam.

Daisy – Just like that? You just take it, right now?

Me – Yes; I don't have any more flats to see today and the others I saw were the worst. I take this one.

We get into the lift talking about how we are going to arrange everything.

Daisy – You have to pay the agents 120 pounds for them to investigate you and see if you can actually stay.

Yes. You pay the agents so they can decide if they let you stay. London and its state agencies.

Daisy – It should be fine, though, as long as you have a job... with Foxxie's friend there were problems because she was on probation at work, and these people won't allow you in if you are not in a stable situation at work. Your are not on probation, right?

God damnit.

Me – Crap. I am. It will be over in three weeks, but right now I am indeed on probation -Daisy looks suddenly very worried-.

Daisy – Damn. Well, if it's almost over it might be fine. Let me talk to the agent and let's see what can be done about it. I guess it will be OK.

But, dear readers, this is London. And if there is something that can go well, an agent will show up to fix that.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Me – Hey Daisy.

Daisy – Hi! I talked to the agent. He says you could move in while still having everything on my name. You would pay me and I would pay him.

Of course! Let's never do anything the legal way! This is London, after all.

Me – But... this is kind of messy... how do you know I'm even going to pay? You just met me.

Daisy – I'm so glad you said that, because it worries me a lot, actually -she giggles nervously-.

Me – And I wouldn't be in the contract, which is not thrilling at all.

Daisy – I know. I don't know what we should do.

We discuss the situation. After a rather long conversation I am quite sure Daisy sells human organs in the black market and she seems to think that I have a second job as a nuclear weapons dealer. We both think the other is a con artist, so we agree for me to pay her a small amount, she gives me the keys, I check I can actually get into the flat and only then I pay for the rest of the month. That way I don't have to pay a fortune without having the keys and she doesn't have to give me the keys without any kind of guarantee.

And I will keep telling you stuff next week. The whole thing is just too long for one single post.

See you next week!