Greetings from Islington

I've been in England for 75 days already! The first half of that I was basically on holiday. It hasn’t been much of a break since then. 

Matt and I are here for two years as he pursues a master’s degree in creative nonfiction at City, University of London. The school was slow in getting him something he needed for his student visa to move forward so he flew home to California in late September to deal with that and do classes online. I stayed behind.  

 

I started moving into our flat Oct. 1. It’s in the borough of Islington in Greater London. Since Matt was in the states, it was up to his intrepid wife to get this handled.  I came up with a game plan for our six suitcases over from the Marylebone home of our friend, Bob, who was in Spain for a few weeks. 

 

Too far to walk.  Tube and buses out, too, because they involve waiting and moving 50-pound suitcases on my own.  Taxi it would be.  My thought was I'd make a delivery of one of the biggest suitcases (mine) and some bags.  I could handle that and just had to walk to the corner and hail a taxi. 

A cab driver immediately pulled over and helped me with my stuff.  I would unpack this suitcase and head back for the next load.  Going back I could take the tube/bus. 

 

There's a hero in this story.  And I'm not exaggerating by using the term hero.  My cabbie’s name is Sean, which he pronounces as Shown.  We had a nice conversation on the way over and I got all of his life story and he got mine.  When we got to the flat, my instructions (via the landlady) was to use a code to get into the building and the keys would be on a windowsill by my apartment.   

 

There was nothing on the exterior door that involved using a code. I couldn't get in to find the keys to open the flat.  It was a conundrum and I was pretty irritated.  The cleaning lady was supposed to be there to meet me and get me in but she had come early. Shown stepped in and asked if I had a number for the landlady which I did so he called her…in Gibraltar.   

 

While he was on the phone getting more detailed instructions someone came out the front door so we got past that hurdle. Our flat is #1 so you might think it would be the first one you saw.  No way.  We kept looking for it but no stairs going up or down led us to it.  Shown said we should try the elevator. Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?  We're on the first floor!  But when you get in the elevator, there's a button to go a half level down.  It's designated as -1. 

 

OK, we try that and with Shown going all over that floor to find flat 1, he was eventually successful.  But wait.  There's a locked door to get into a hallway that leads to my flat and one more.   

 

“Oh,” I say to Shown. “Maybe that's what the combo is used for.” 

Success!  Now we are at the very door of Flat 1. I try all six keys left for me.  No luck. Shown says to let him try it. I say, “Please do.” 

 

The trick turns out to be you have to lift the door handle all the way up to insert a f'in key in. Turn key three times and we're in. 

 

So I make a proposal to Shown. Not of marriage but to take me back to Marylebone and load up the cab and make a final trip back to Islington.  He's happy to do so.  More chit chat on the way to Marylebone. He’s giving me lots of tips on safety and things to be aware of in the big city. Lots to "beware" of I learned.  It wasn't mentioned that it might not be a good idea to let my cab driver know how to get into the building and my code number to access the apartment.  Too late anyway and trust me, I never would have figured out the system in this building or where the apartment was.  - 1...really? 

Shown did all the heavy lifting and we even brought over Matt's stuff which I planned on leaving there until he returned from California. Back in Islington, Shown has me try to do all locks by myself.  He watches me use a fob on my key ring to enter the building. I had the interior code memorized so it took only two tries to get that right.  Fumbled a little on my front door but Shown showed me again how to do it. 

I now have a friend.  Shown gave me his cab phone number plus his one at home. I'm to call him whenever I need anything like a big marketing that I couldn't carry home.  Or just any questions I might have on London.  The ultimate cab bill was £99 (about $133) so I gave him £100 and told him to keep the change.  No, of course not. I gave him £50 and he was so surprised. But he saved me from a disaster I didn't see coming and might have led to a divorce or possibly a simple suicide. 

 

So there's my London moving story. Maybe not all that interesting, but I did feel Shown needed some recognition so there you go.

I felt a bit more settled after about five days. It's obviously clean because the cleaning lady uses a ton of that stuff you sprinkle on carpet to make the place smell nice.  It started me sneezing.  It is a pretty good size for a London flat.  Bedrooms spacious, nice light through windows, two good-sized bathrooms and a bookcase, which every home needs. 

 

Reality then sets in. Nobody left the wifi code. I can't get the TV to work. Two dining room chairs are broken and another is missing. There's a floor lamp in the master bath that someone was using since the bath lights didn't work.  Some lights are out in the kitchen ceiling. Dresser broken in one bedroom.  No lighting for reading in bed (that's a deal killer right there).  There's a heap of construction material in the hallway, making it difficult to access my front door.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, to hang up any clothes. Not a hook to be found anywhere.  One closet that could have been usable is stuffed full of the owner’s personal stuff. I made a list of "wants" and worked out something with the landlady.   

 

I felt comfortable here after the first two nights. I figure most bad guys are dimwits and if I couldn't figure out how to get into this flat, they won't be able to either. That's what I'm counting on. Still, I keep a big butcher knife under my pillow.