After months of false starts, disappointing surveys and Rightmove excavations, I think I might, finally, hopefully, if the wind is from the south and the right number of magpies appear over High Holborn, have found somewhere to live in London.
The original plan was to find somewhere to rent weekdays, and come back to Stratford at weekends. But in practice I was barely in Stratford – when I came back it’d often be late, so I’d just stay with my parents – so it makes more sense to have somewhere I can actually call home down south (though I’ll still be in the Midlands at least one day most weekends). It’s a pointy kind of a place in Canada Water that seems ideal, but will require me giving up my flat, which is a wrench that may break my heart for a while. It should be worth it, though.
It’s not finalised yet, and there’s plenty that could go wrong, but my offer was accepted today, and the survey is fine – so it’s at least coherent and has reached the point where I’m starting to think about packing. So come October, I might, just might, be somewhere in London I can call my own. Eep.