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!