"Home from the hospital with every afternoon off, Malone blundered through his days. He thought of the mountains, the North, snow, the ocean – thought of all the life he had spent unlived. He wondered how he could die since he had not yet lived."
On occasion, reading the work of Carson McCullers, I've had the distinct sensation that Morrissey has been here before me, reading the same lines.
I finished Clock Without Hands on Sunday on the premises of King's Place, waiting to see Roopa Panesar on the sitar (for which someone had kindly supplied a complimentary ticket). I found the end of the book deeply moving. Whatever else happens in my life, I thought, all I really need to do is wait for my death. It will come. Sure enough, it will come – then none of this will matter.
I am currently hugely discouraged in my search for lodgings in London. Carl Sagan was informed by another housemate, Kelly Monteith, that the person whose room I am currently occupying – Glen Miller – will be returning from the States earlier than expected. Time might be shorter that it was (and it was already short). Not only that, a week into my search, I have still entirely failed even to view a property. Mention of housing benefit has scuppered even the few promises of negotiation that have appeared, the only exception to this being those promises that were clearly scams (I've had some scam e-mail from Craig's List in answer to some of my enquiries).
One line of investigation went like this: I was on Old Compton Street on Saturday. I had gone there after purchasing a towel from Marks and Spencer on Oxford Street. The next day, Easter Sunday, I had been invited to Easter breakfast, or brunch or something like that, by the charming Diana Rigg, who lived in a kind of artists' colony not far from the abode of Carl Sagan. I had been asked to bring a little something, and, wandering in the direction of the British Museum, I had remembered the old Algerian Coffee shop on Old Compton Street and changed the direction of my footsteps. In the shop I had purchased some Lebanese coffee, a fig and almond wedge, some chocolate, and some other goodies. Rain started while I was inside, and after my purchases, I sheltered under the red awning outside for a while, enjoying the petrichor scent of the wet April pavements. When the rain had sufficiently slowed, I moved on. Sitting at the side of the pavement, on some folded cardboard, a man was asking for change, saying he had been robbed earlier and was trying to make his money back. I gave him some change and stopped to talk for a while. Eventually, he asked what I was doing (generally in life), and I said that I was looking for somewhere to live in London. He gave me some tips, then, when I mentioned my need for somewhere that would accept housing benefit, he visibly retrieved some stored information, asked if I had a pen and paper, and recommended to me ***** Lettings, whose address he proceeded to give. They had properties where housing benefit was acceptable, and they were also very helpful and reliable in maintenance, he said.
I talked for a while longer and then moved on, thinking that I had found something of a lead. Because of Easter, with offices of all kinds being shut, it wasn't until yesterday that I was able to telephone ***** Lettings. I said I was looking for a flat – studio or bedsit. Unable to help me, the man on the other end of the phone could only repeat himself, "I'm afraid we've got nothing at the moment. This seems to be a bad time. We've… it looks like we've got nothing. There just doesn't seem to be anything of that kind. Unfortunately, we don't have anything like that. I'm afraid we can't help you. Sorry." He seemed genuinely apologetic. "What you should do is phone again after the Bank Holiday, in a week."
One more lead turns into a dead end.
I might write about the scams I encountered through Craig's List, and the pros and cons of the dongle versus the free internet connection at the bookshop/cafe later… if I have time. For now I have to wonder where I can find a new lead on this flat hunt, because I've run out of all the leads I started with.
it took me seven years to find my place here in north hollywood.i had a friend in new york many years ago who was needing a place $50 a month near cornell university. he went up and down every street talking to superintendents of the ‘walk-up’ brownstones. he offered them a hundred dollars if they would let him know when one of these rare rent controlled apartments was vacating. within two months he had three. and not one of them would take the reward. he took one, gave one to me and one to a mutual friend.i say this because i understand that it was his direct approach which was unique and of course tedious and hard work. but he devoted all his spare time to doing it.ummmm i can’t find ‘petrichor’ in my dictionery. but i gleaned that petri is rock so it must be the odor from wet rocks.
knock on real doors… petrichor…that’s a nice word. almost as charming as panjandrum. right on… stiff upper lip and all that sort of rot. 😆
Yes, that’s what petrichor is.I’ve known places in this world where the direct approach was easier, but I’m not sure who to be direct to here, or where. Anyway… I suppose I shall persevere.
gveranon writes:At least in the U. S., there are apartment-referral businesses that will help people find an apartment. I used one of these years ago when I was in an unfamiliar city looking desperately for an apartment I could afford and having no luck at all, day after day after day. They quickly pointed me in the direction of a fairly decent place that was in my price range, and a couple hours later I had a lease. The referral service didn’t charge me anything at all, because apparently the landlords pay to have their properties listed and prospective tenants sent their way. I don’t know if anything like this exists in London. If you could find a business like this, they might also be able to help you find a place that will take the housing benefit. Just a suggestion.
Hello. That’s exactly what my next step will be. Whether the business is the same model or not, there are lettings agents here. I did, in fact, try one of these with no luck as detailed in the post above, but I shall try another. I have only been prevented from doing this so far by a few things: The bad experiences the people in this house have had with letting agents (quote: “They’re all evil.”), the fact that my phone has now completely died, and something else I’ve forgotten because it’s too early in the morning. But yes – I intend now to explore further in this direction.
What’s the geosmin?
Don’t forget the geosmin!
It’s the other component of ‘rain wet soil’ smell. It is produced by bacteria primarily, if I’m not mistaken.
Ah…. okay.