London, actually
Jack is on vacation. In his absence, we present posts from Jane, who is also on vacation — from reality.
So I had rented this house on Fire Island with my buddies anticipating the demise of my New York City self in advance of moving to London for sabbatical. Away from Jack, away from the lesbians, away from the shitty indifference that’s so typical of my adopted home. So.
Now I’m in London (an instantaneous switching of the scene due to poor blogging skills). I moved here to get away from all of the bullshit. Here there’s loads of bullshit. It just has very little to do with my world so I don’t pay much attention to it. (Comparative analysis can come later.)
Frankly, at this very moment, I’m just happy to be somewhere else. I subletted a cute little house, formerly a council estate, owned by a software writer and an accountant. The software writer (female) is doing a secondment in Singapore whilst the accountant lives here still. His name is Edward and he’s 26 and Welsh. When one takes a sublet for a room online, one expects the worst. Knowing that I would be living with a 26-year old male Welsh accountant, I expected something close to Ewan McGregor’s character in Shallow Grave. Sure he’s a Scot but whatever. Wales, Scotland…both marginal and non-English.
I flew in from NYC, took the tube as long as I possibly could with my bags and all, and then broke down and got a black cab to my destination with nothing but a Google map and a single key. Happily — joyously really — the key worked and I walked into my new abode. Like I said, formerly a council estate. This I didn’t know upon first entry, thinking it was likely still a council estate. So I unpacked, reaching to the depths of my soul to my Polyanna heart, wandered out to find the fabled Sainsbury’s that I had heard about from my homies that know the hood, bought some shit (always cathartic) and then came home for a nap. When I woke up I could hear him moving about downstairs. I was totally disoriented and looking mightily unattractive no doubt, but it had to happen.
Lemme just say that it was weird. Wouldn’t it be for you? Walking downstairs to meet the total stranger that you’ll be living with for the next few months? I’m sure it was equally as weird for him. Coming home to the house that he owns to meet a total stranger who entered midday with no one home and moved a bunch of shit in. Well, as I said, I was expecting a bloke, football-oriented to be sure, with fucked-up teeth and a certain grimace and stench. What I found in my jet-lagged delirium was a rather dashing som’n-som’n who was making me blush. Because he was cute but also because he was so much better than even my best-case-scenario expectation. He’s awfully sweet, it’s true, and I think he deserves a reward.
by Jane, October 14, 2006 2:43 PM | More from Drinking & Women | More from Jane | More from The Damned Human Race
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