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Thursday 8 November 2012

HOME SWEET HOME (NOT)


We are currently looking for flats. I rank this up there with coal mining. I’m claustrophobic with a cleaning disorder; I think you can gather how I feel about the flat hunting process. The worst part is – well not the worst part, there are so many parts about flat hunting that are profoundly undesirable – this entire relocation situation is being forced upon us. [Yes landlords, I do hope you’re reading this]. In short, our wonderful and empathetic landlords (yes, that’s sarcasm) have given us notice a month before Christmas as they claim they are going to do renovations on the flat we live in and the one below (not sure about the other 24 flats, that's been mysteriously unanswered) so as to proper insulate it for sound. In short, your kid makes too much noise, the neighbors below you hate you (and are apparently moving out) and we want you out, like yesterday.

It’s amazing the above is legal, but apparently it is. At least over here.

Now, firstly, the fact that this is in so many ways being laid at the King’s door makes the primal mother gene in me stand up and want to kick some ass. The kid likes to make noise. He’s a boy, a two year old boy at that, who likes to wake up at the crack of dawn and start singing at the top of his lungs about trucks and bears, and…well, dinner (cause every meal is dinner apparently). I’m not saying it’s always enjoyable to those around us, but it’s far from controllable. You try negotiating with a toddler who doesn’t fully comprehend reason, (I’m giving him the benefit here) I assure you, it’s an uphill struggle.

Furthermore, the neighbors around us, as most of you know who are readers of this blog, have never been a picnic either. In fact, from the loud chronic schizophrenic music from the upstairs neighbor (he never plays a song for more than ten seconds and they switch from hardcore rap to Celine Dion) to the chronic fighting and partying of the downstairs neighbors, well I’d say we’re in good company for noise pollution. Funny thing is, the upstairs neighbor is going nowhere. Curious that.

Anyway, to date, I’ve seen about fifteen flats. I’ve been looking for a few days. Yesterday I walked nine miles around our hood, dragging my insomniac self from property to property attempting to walk in the door and greet my new potential surroundings with rose coloured glasses. This whole journey takes a boost of positivity, and I assure you, this is not an easy feat. First there is the uber peppy, android estate agents one has to deal with; they are a bit like LA talent agents in that they never really look at you, they don't use normal, vernacular, and they are always pushing the hard sell.  

The most annoying part of these androids is their insistence to pitch the property you’re looking at as anything but what it really is: a matchbook sized hovel. They use heaps of misleading euphemisms like cozy (small); quaint (small); full of character (old), in need of some love (falling apart), possessing atmosphere (serious mold problem); existing in an area steeped in local flavor (you’re going to get knifed or shot) or, my favorite, ‘it's the best thing we have right now.’ Which means, this is London, people are willing to live in refrigerator boxes, if you don’t like it lady, someone else will.

Then there is the state of the property itself. Aside from being small and in need of some major TLC, most are kept - and shown - in such disarray even the King walks in, looks at me and says, ‘dirty, mamma.’ God is he well trained or what? Then he marches around the flat like he owns the place and usually ends up back at the door where he issues the command, ‘outside, mamma,' like one more second in the place is going to age him considerably. I seriously don’t blame the kid.

I was actually shown one today that was four floors up (Yeah. Two year old kid that is the size of a pony; Pram; groceries bags; Insomnia. I don’t think so) and the supposed wall between the two bedrooms was a giant door that opened like an accordian at the touch of a finger. The estate agent thought this would be sheer brilliance as we had a child, exclaiming, 'you see, you can hear him at all times!' I looked at her and said, you’re not a parent are you? The point is, he’s two. We don’t want to hear him anymore (love you King, but at 4am, mamma wants to NOT hear you).

And so, the search continues. In mere hours I’m off to see a handful more potential ‘homes’ for the King where I’m hoping the floor is padded (the only solution really for a toddler with a propensity for running sprints indoors), the ceiling is mirrored (I mean seriously, what toddler wouldn’t love that) and the kitchen cleans itself. A woman can dream, can’t she?


Tuesday 6 November 2012

ELECTION DAY


Ah yes, Election Day is here. It used to be that I would get incredibly excited to vote (although I still exercise my vote as you all know) and watch the coverage like an eager (and naïve) spectator. Now I'm just excited for all the election spam email to stop appearing in my inbox! Not to mention, by the time election day comes along, I achingly long for the cease-fire between the opposing sides (god we're so juvenile). For some reason this time around, the election has truly brought out the vitriol in people and they have no problem expressing their opinion (which I respect if it’s done in a certain way) in crude, hateful and often ignorant ways. That part I’m used to, humans never cease to amaze me at how ignorant they can be. The part that I can never seem to get used to is the part of politics where people truly believe that an opinion has to be based in hate. It’s an opinion, people. For many of you, it’s not even based in fact. So please, spare the ‘did anyone check his birth certificate’ b.s., go open a book and learn something that is grounded in fact.

When it comes to politics, if you haven’t figured out by now, it is called partisan politics because it is just that, split down the middle like a giant coconut. And there will always be people who believe in blue and those that believe in green and sadly nowadays there is very little yellow being made. In short, your guy will never be my guy and vice versa. Not to mention, these days blame is simply the name of the game. Most people will blame the guy that came before for all that ails them (forgetting that someone came before him and him and him and so on) and forget that politics is a long road filled with corrupt agenda seeking individuals surrounded by more agenda seeking individuals, wrapped up in more greedy money grubbing individuals until you find yourself with one big giant corrupt onion.

So as I’m smart enough to know that the game of politics is never changing – it’s far too interwoven and profitable – here is what I hope and pray for: a world where people actually start taking responsibility for themselves and stop blaming everyone one else for their own screw ups. I long for a world where people stop thinking that their lives are run by one singular man (god please can that be a woman at some point in the near future) with a set of ideals (that are just that, ideals).  It is never going to be that simple. I hope for an age where people actually realize that when they are taking out a credit card they shouldn’t have, or a mortgage they can’t afford it is THEIR fault, not to mention their job to have the willpower to say no. It is not your President’s fault, it is not even your banker/mortgage lender's fault (even though they are most likely not driven by pure intentions). It is up to you to manage your own life and finances. I also yearn for a day when people will realize that helping one’s fellow man is not communism and giving to those that have no opportunities whatsoever (if you don't know what this truly  means, you are NOT one of these people. You have opportunities) is not anti-capitalism. It’s called being human. You should try it.

Furthermore, it would be so refreshing and I think a true game changer, if we as people started acting responsible for not only what we do, but what we say. Hate filled rhetoric is utterly futile and just that, a proponent of hate. It serves no purpose other than poisoning the well and sucking the goodness out of life. If you don’t like who is running the country, then get involved in your community, make a sodding difference on a smaller scale; don’t just run your mouth off that the other guy is the devil incarnate because you are only going on what you’re given. And most importantly, realize now that the other guy, that knight and shining armor you are clinging so firmly to, well he’s probably not going to make your life any better. Hate to break it to you, but that’s up to us.

Happy voting people. 


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