Author Archives: Ivar the Salacious

Before the race

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I and Romario were very poor. We really needed a third tenant. To make matters worse, Romario didn’t cancel his standing order and paid rent to the previous landlord as well. His bank account went over his overdraft limit and the bank charged him £5 for every day his account was above the limit.

Not-sure-if-everything-is-expensive

He said he’s never been this poor. Then his bank also blocked his card. I found the whole thing hilarious.

We told Amazon that she should look at other flats and give this one a pass. Even though I had about £50 in my bank account and Romario found some change in a drawer – it was all the money we had… However, after Amazon checked out 6-8 other properties she gave us a call and wanted back in. It’s funny how that worked out. Apparently the other flats had weirdos living in them or they didn’t have a living room or in one case she had to walk through a toilet to get to the available room etc. London is weird like that.

The Amazon merger improved our financial position dramatically. Things are looking good again. And she’s been an amazing flatmate so far.

Some other things regarding the rental agency have surfaced and I’m very tired of all the bullshit. I stopped communicating with them as I don’t want to deal with them anymore. Everything they’ve told us or promised has been a lie and I have no interest in interacting with people like that. I’ve got way better things to do with my life.

I took the AF5 exam about a week ago. It’s the one I failed by one point back in October. I’m not too confident about passing it this time around as my thoughts were a bit distracted when studying because of all the stuff I wrote in the last two posts. Anywho, I’ll find out if I passed in about two months.

The London Marathon is tomorrow. The mass start is at 10 AM and based on my training, I should finish within 4 hours. 3H 45 minutes would be a good result. I’m quite excited.

Wish me luck!

Ivar

Surprise buttsex

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Today’s been a very angry day. In fact I can’t even recall the last time I was this angry. Dealing with the real estate agency has been horrible. They have been screwing us right between the buttcrack so hard that I’m starting to enjoy it. I stopped clenching and just bent over even more and gave in. Now I know what rape feels like.

surprise_buttsex

Sorry about the above mental picture. I believe I owe you dinner first before going down that road.

Here’s what happened. I and my housemate agreed to rent a 3 bed flat in Central London. The flat is da bomb. It is in a fantastic location and we love it. However, we ran into a few complications with the agency.

Our initial plan was to rent with a couple i.e. four people in the flat. We told this to the agent at our very first viewing and said that we haven’t yet found the new potential tenants. We were told that this is no problem and that we can do that. We agreed to make an offer for the property based on that.

The following day the agent (Blond Bimbo) called me again and said that we need to increase our offer (for the weekly rent) to make sure the landlord accepts it. So in order to sweeten the deal I reluctantly agreed to increase it by £10 pw… i.e. circa £43 pcm.

The next day the Old Hag (Blond Bimbo’s manager) called me and said that if we have a couple as tenants we would have to apply for some license because of health and safety reasons and that the landlord wanted to increase the rent by a further £40 pw i.e. £173 pcm because of extra “wear and tear”… so just like that the rent had increased by £216 pcm. I was told the license would cost about £500 as well. I immediately said we can’t afford that and asked what if we had just one person instead of a couple. She said that she’d get back to me and on a later phone call said that the rent would stay the same i.e. the plus £10 pw amount. That was acceptable I thought as this would also save the £500 license cost.

Our holding deposit of two weeks’ rent was taken and the referencing process began. I already wrote about that in my previous post – it was a nightmare as well.

We were still looking for a tenant and found a potential one but were not able to have a viewing because the landlord had the property rented out on AirBnB. We had to wait for more than a week to get that viewing (which was on 29th March – only two days before our move in date). They wanted us to sign the contract and pay way before we had the viewing in order to “close the file” and make sure we can move in on the 1st April.

The agency was charging us a £180 admin charge for the contract. I specifically emailed them to ask if there’s going to be another admin charge if we add a third tenant. It did not make sense to me to pay £180 now and then another £180 again the following week. Blond Bimbo’s email response asked me to call her to discuss this. So I did and she said that there will be no admin fee for adding the third tenant because they’ve always known we were adding another person. Following that I signed the contract and paid the agency all the fees, rent and deposit. This £180 fee is the key reason for my anger.

A week later, we managed to get a viewing for the new potential tenant (Amazon). She was very pleased with the flat and agreed to rent it with us. Things were looking good. Blond Bimbo took Amazon back to the agency’s office to scan her passport and take the referencing fee of £60. At least that’s what me and Amazon thought would happen.

Amazon said that when she went to the office with Blond Bimbo to pay and scan her passport, one of Blond Bimbo’s colleagues said that “you shouldn’t take that payment, what if it doesn’t work out and she can’t move in”. The license issue was news to Miss Bimbo as well and they didn’t take any payment from Amazon.

It was raining outside and Romario was on his bike – as you do when you’re Dutch. We decided to wait until the rain stops before heading back home after the flat viewing. That’s when Romario got a call from Old Hag regarding the license. She said that we need a license to have a third tenant. I spoke to Old Hag as well as we previously talked about this issue and that this would only apply if there were 4 tenants. She mumbled some crap and said that this was not the case and that a license was definitely needed for 3 people as well.

This was very bad news. We went home and were proper panicking. We discussed all kinds of scenarios about what we can do because we could not cover the rent between the two of us. We definitely needed another tenant to afford the place.

We sent a long email to the agency detailing our disappointment and concerns about the whole situation. However, we asked them to resolve this situation in a fair way and wanted to work together in the future.

We had a read through our contract again and found out about a massive exit penalty – almost £4,000. We were effectively in a position where we couldn’t afford to cancel or stay in the contract. That’s when we started to feel proper screwed.

The next day we received a response email from Old Hag which was very apologetic and said that they were not trying to hide any information from us on purpose etc. It was all bullshit. Later we got confirmation from them that the third tenant could move in if we applied for the House in Multiple Occupation (HMO) license.

We decided that the least bad option for us was to pay for the license (it cost circa £600) and hope for the best. We are very broke right now. Please send me money.

Amazon went to the agency yesterday to get the ball rolling and then she was asked to pay they wanted to take the second £180 admin fee from her as well, along with the £60 referencing fee.

She called me and was very upset about it. I then called Old Hag and was proper angry with them because this is something I specifically discussed with Blond Bimbo previously. Old Hag said there’s no way we can avoid that fee. Amazon decided to walk away from this shitty agency and we fully support her decision. Sadly we are locked into the contract and can’t do the same.

That second admin fee was the last drop. We have been lied to so many times and the agency keeps changing their story and has introduced new hidden fees on multiple occasions. All the agency fees add up to almost £1,300 but should’ve been £504 following our very first meeting.

We have decided that we will only communicate with them in writing. I do not believe a word they say.

It is also possible that the property already has the license and they are trying to pass the cost on to us. I’ve asked them to provide proof that they applied for the license (we want to see receipts, applications etc) and that it indeed cost what they said it would. Same thing for the “inventory check” for which they charged us as well.

It’s been such a horrid day. The only good thing is that it can’t get any worse, right?

Ivar

I move again

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I’ve been sick for the last two weeks – ebola, bubonic plague mixed with the common flu – no biggie. It’s the sickest I’ve been in at least 5 years. At one point (or… uhm… many points) I even considered seeing a doctor – what a novel idea. However, my pride got in the way. I haven’t been to a doctor in many years and I ain’t going to no doctor now.

The other minor complication was that I don’t have a GP (general practitioner) here in the UK. I’ve never bothered to register with a surgery. I once tried to get it done… back when I was still living in Chelmsford. Unfortunately it didn’t get anywhere because they asked me for proof of address, which I didn’t have as I don’t pay any bills (my bills were always included in my rent). Also, at that time I had moved recently and the address on my bank statement was incorrect – I even went to an HSBC branch to get this sorted – but they didn’t want to co-operate and sent me home. They said I need to wait until the end of the month to get a new statement with the correct address in the post. And that’s the story how I almost got a GP. Why can’t this be easy? England is like that – ridiculously stupid, full of red tape and regulation.

One other thing: I’m moving house again. The landlady is moving in and everybody needs to move out by the 4th April. My ebola was pretty bad and I managed to outsource the majority of the flathunting responsibility to my housemate Romario.

Believe me, flathunting when sick is a very miserable experience. For example I went to one address and I was there at 6:15 PM – bang on the money. Romario was nowhere to be seen and my battery ran out on my phone. I wasn’t going to wait around in the cold hoping for Romario to show up, so I went home and proceeded with coughing my lungs out. Later my housemate said that the flat wasn’t that great.

Another day, we had a second viewing. Well… “had” is a strong word. This time the two of us were outside the building waiting but the real estate agent didn’t even bother to show up. Romario called him and demanded justice, but the fucker didn’t care and said he can’t make it. Real estate agents are scum.

Luckily we had a second viewing that day. This viewing was for me really as Romario already checked that flat out a bit earlier. The new place was amazing and we decided to rent it. It’s right between the Holborn and Chancery Lane tube stations i.e. only 950 meters from where I work.

Later that day I got home and my ebola took on a turn for the worse. I had a massive fever and I was very cold. I ran a hot bath and stayed in it until the skin on my fingers got all wrinkly and gross. Then I put on 3 pairs of trousers and 6 layers of T-shirts and sweaters because I was still cold. I tried to get some sleep under my duvet but that proved to be difficult because of a massive headache.

It’s a strange sensation to be cold and shivering with so many clothes on… I survived and now (about a week later) I’m a lot better – I think I’ll even go for a run tomorrow.

Coming back to the flat. Our real estate agent told us a bunch of lies about the property i.e. “the council tax here is one of the lowest in London” and that we could have four people in that three-bed apartment no problem.

The next day the agency called me and tried to increase the rent and they were successful. I foolishly agreed to a slightly higher price to make sure we got the flat. Agents are full of shit and will tell you anything to get more money out of you. Later on they tried to get even more money out of us (i.e. a 10% increase if there’s 4 people in the flat because of more “wear and tear”). We would also need to apply for some kind of license (which costs £500 or so) as three tenants is the maximum in that flat because of some “health and safety” regulation. None of this was mentioned to us when we first saw the property.

Later on we had to get our references done by a third company. This was such a headache – I had to send bank statements, payslips, proof of my savings etc. Then it turned out one of my bank statements wasn’t up to their standards because it didn’t show a salary being paid into my account (this is because my statements are generated on the 24th each month but I get paid on the 26th). In addition I had to sign stuff and scan and email to my company’s HR team and to the agency and the whole process made me feel like a criminal. To add insult to injury, I’m the one who’s paying for this referencing “service”. It was such a bad experience that at one point I didn’t even care whether I pass the referencing credit and whatever other checks they did. I just wanted this ordeal to end.

I sent an angry email to the referencing company and after that they became much more civil. The whole thing was stupid, unnecessary, unpleasant and a proper pain in the ass but we got there in the end.

MyButtHurts

We’ve signed the contract, paid a ton of money for one month’s rent and 6 weeks deposit and various agency fees. It feels wrong to pay more than £6.5K and receive nothing in return – all we have is a contract which is only signed by me and Romario at this time.

I hope it all turns out well. We are still looking for a third tenant as Pilar will not join us – she’s moving to Spain in May and will stay at a friend’s place in between I think. Anywho, we’ve had plenty of interest in the room we advertised on Spareroom and tomorrow will probably have a new housemate sorted out.

I’m not sure if I mentioned previously but I was supposed to run a half marathon race in Silverstone (it’s a bit north west from London) about two weeks ago. I didn’t because of my ebola. I haven’t done any running in the last two weeks and now I have less than four weeks to train for the London marathon. Things are not looking good.

On the bright side, I won’t be homeless going forward. We will move to the new place on the 1st April. I’m really looking forward to it as I’m confident in the new flat I won’t feel rain droplets falling on me through the bedroom window when the weather gets nasty outside.

I hope you had a good Easter holiday,

Ivar the Salacious

Passat comfort, crying babies and eating snow

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Day 1 – Getting to Bulgaria

It’s the end of tax year here in the UK and work is busier than ever. I’ve found myself working late – something I’ve never done before.

One of my colleagues here used to say that ‘you never stay late, what is wrong with you? I don’t know… maybe I started to care about work and what I do. Sadly it’s to the detriment of my happiness and job satisfaction. The latter has significantly deteriorated since February.

Keeping all the above in mind, it’s no surprise that I needed to get away, somewhere far-far away from London – the further, the better.

Luckily I had already booked some annual leave. This was for ZoukFest – a zouk festival here in London near the Heathrow Airport. However, I got a message on Facebook from Benn (my old Australian housemate) who said he was snowboarding in Bulgaria and invited me over.

I had a quick think, looked at flights, went for a run to clear my mind and decided to go for it. ZoukFest happens every year but how often do you get to see old friends from the other side of the planet? Besides it’ll cost me roughly the same. Following my cost-benefit analysis I booked my flights to Sofia, Bulgaria. I figured it would feel more like a vacation if I was overseas as well. I’m a smart little man, aren’t I?

Fast forward to Wednesday. My flight was from Luton at 9 PM and I had to catch my EasyBus shuttle from Commercial Street (near Liverpool St station) after work. However, work being super busy meant that I had to rush to the pick-up point. My colleagues thought it would be a 20 minute walk from the office. I decided not to trust them and ran the whole distance. It took me 20 minutes to get there. Google Maps says that it was a 36 minute walk. Trust is a fragile thing you know…I will never trust my colleagues again.
Everything went smoothly once I got on the bus. The flight was on time and I landed on time.

I had some trouble booking a transfer from Sofia to Bansko (the ski-resort town). Everything was booked out. One guy from a taxi/shuttle company said they’re all booked out but he’ll look into it. He referred me to Svetlio, who in turn said that he could give me a ‘private’ transfer for £48. I said forget it because I’m poor.

Then he came back quoting £20 instead. I said that’s reasonable and agreed. I think this is how Bulgaria works. They try to skin you alive and then if they find out they can’t get away with it, they’ll reconsider their offering.

So. My flight landed at 2:15 AM local time and Svetlio promised to pick me up from the airport. I was quite impressed that he was actually at the airport with a sign with my name on it and everything. For a moment I felt important.

That didn’t last long.

Svetlio (a man in his late 30s with long dark hair who didn’t speak much English) walked me to his car. It was an old Volkswagen Passat from 1989 I think. This all reminded me of the beginning scene of a horror movie. It was late at night, I got into a dodgy car (which had no logos or anything identifying it as a proper transfer vehicle) with a stranger who barely spoke English. Oh well, I thought… I have no kids nor dependants and nobody will miss me anyway… Let’s be less racist for a moment and give this suspicious man a chance.

We didn’t talk much. I was tired and tried to get some sleep however the thought of being murdered kept me awake.
We stopped at 3 petrol stations and I managed to get Wifi to message Benn to let him know that I was on my way (they don’t sell SIM cards at gas stations for some reason and my crappy T-mobile contract doesn’t function overseas).

I got to Bansko in one piece and have to admit that all my fears were a fiction of my imagination.

It was good to see my kids again. Benn hasn’t changed at all – he still looks like Jesus with his massive hobo beard. Em hadn’t changed either.

We had some tea and a bit of a catch-up before going to sleep.

Day 2 – A day of pain and suffering

I have never snowboarded. Nor have I ever skied downhill with those heavy wide skis. I’ve done a bit of cross country skiing about 10 years or so ago. We put together a plan and decided that skiing was lame. Therefore, I was going to be snowboarding with Benn and Em on my first day.

I had a lot of trouble standing up on the board even on a small incline. Falling down was painful because everything was covered in icy snow. I’m no quitter and we thought that I need a real hill to learn.

Naturally, we went to the tippy-top of the mountain. It was cold. Not renting proper clothes was a mistake. I was shaking from the cold as we went up on the chairlift. The top is about 2.5km high. The views from above were breath-taking.

Bansko (179)

Benn helped me to get the feel for the board as we tried to get downhill together. We were holding on to each other as I needed someone to hold on to for balance. Again, falling was painful.

At one time we decided I should go solo. It was OK for a few seconds until I face-planted and hurt my left arm. It’s been 10 days and the arm still hurts. It probably needs to be amputated.

Side note, completely unrelated to the above. Today I helped out a colleague with a case and she gave me a quick overview: this is a very old client who fell and had to wait almost an entire day until his son found him. I know tragic… but I couldn’t stop laughing once I heard this. And she laughed along. Oh well, I’m going to hell. 😀

Ok, back to the top of the mountain. Benn figured that the only way for me to learn snowboarding was to actually go do some snowboarding. Before he managed to kick me downhill ‘this is Sparta!’-style my whole life flashed before my eyes. A lot of things were already hurting and I decided I’d rather take the chairlift down because this was a very long and icy slope, I was miserable and my ass was wet and I just wanted to go home.

By the way the chairlift was scary as hell. I was trembling most of the way down – 10% because of the cold, 89% fear and 1% sheer horror. The wobbly chairlift didn’t help things either. I was proper shitting myself. Man, I’m such a pussy.

Our trio met at the mid base and decided to try a different slope. Now things improved. A lot. Here the snow was mushy and softer. After a few falls I started to lose my fear of acquainting my face with the ground. My way towards backflips and 360’s was no longer paved with tears and pain but it was more of a sure thing – I could see myself winning the next X-games and slalom Olympics.

I improved a lot and managed to stay on the board like a pro – a very slow one though but still. The highlight was when I crashed into the hottest girl on the hill – this was totally planned of course.

Instead of the gondola, we took the ski-road down the hill. This was a very nice beginner friendly road. However, it was a tad bit too long. I remember my quads and thighs were feeling the burn as I was coming down the mountain. I’m probably doing it wrong because Benn said his thighs don’t ache after snowboarding.

My low-point was when I face-planted with a bit of speed behind me. It hurt and I needed a few moments to bring myself back up to face the rest of the way. Whilst I was on my back begging for a miracle and dreaming of a nice warm place anywhere but here I heard babies crying in the distance. The cries got closer and closer until I saw that some mothers had their kids on their backs as they skied past me. I’m way to cool to call this child abuse but hey… I’m not a parent and therefore can’t judge.

Bansko (171)

Anywho, I was in lots of pain but eventually got up and boarded the rest of the way back to the very end of the road. I congratulated myself on a job well done for surviving this ordeal.

Day 3 – Luxury day

All of my muscles were sore. There was no way I was going anywhere near the mountain. I needed to lick my wounds and some luxury.

Luckily our crib was just three houses down road from a hotel which had a pool and a sauna. That’s where we headed for some easy swimming and chillaxing. It wasn’t anything special. However it was Benn’s (and I think Emily’s as well) first time in a sauna. These kids only lasted about five minutes and it was only 80 degrees in there. Australia has made them soft.

Day 4 – Pro day

I remember feeling sore and watching my videos from Poland in bed. I figured that I could be at ZoukFest and dancing and having a good time. But no, here I am, all broken and nostalgic.

Bansko is not a nice city. It’s got a lot of empty unfinished buildings. We think that the real estate boom crashed spectacularly here and that’s why it looks the way it does. It was quite creepy. I call the street we stayed on Murder Lane because every time we walked past anybody we were scared of getting stabbed by the locals. They did not seem friendly.

The customer service here has lots of room for improvement. I was trying to buy a lift pass for the gondola. The woman sold the ticket to the person in front of me and then just closed her little window and started to count the money in the till and what not. Then she proceeded to have her lunch. I think it would’ve been nice if they kept one of the windows open whilst the rest were on their lunch break. However, out of solidarity all windows were closed at the same time and they didn’t seem to mind that there were people queuing up at every window.

I finally got my ticket and was on my way to the mountain. Since I had already mastered the snowboard I decided to apply my marathon running legs to skis. I also invested in proper pants, gloves and the fastest jacket they had. I was well prepared for backflips and 360s.

The good news is that I was much better on the skis and managed to enjoy the whole thing much more than the snowboard. I ate considerably less snow that day. It was wonderful!

Bansko (185)

Moments before I turned around and dropped all our gear

Benn and Em both managed to injure themselves. Benn fell and stabbed himself in his back with one of his skis and Em hurt her leg when she face-planted on our way back home. Their injuries weren’t serious, they walked it off. However, I was injury free the entire day and didn’t want to leave… but they closed the mountain (i.e. stopped the chairlifts) and we had to go.

On day five I had to head back to Sofia airport and then back to London.

I think this was one of the best short holidays I’ve ever had. Seeing Benn and Em was good, mastering the snowboard/skis was a plus and getting away from London was well worth the trip. I’m definitely going on a ski holiday again.

Peace,
Ivar the future X-games champion

Bansko (203)

Boris bikes, India and unicorns

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Did you know that you can slide down the handrail at the Piccadilly Circus underground station? It’s only possible in the late evening, say 11PM or later because there’s less people and one of the escalators stops – that’s the one where you can slide down the handrail. And then you can do it all again because you’ve got two of those escalators until you get down under.

A bit earlier that day it was another late night at work. I finished (I’m lying, I didn’t finish anything, I just gave up on the day) and left. I knew I would be late for my zouk class, so instead of walking I should figure out a quicker way to get back home. Then I thought it will probably be faster if I took one of those Santander or ‘Boris Bikes’ nicknamed after London’s mayor Boris Johnson.

There was only one bike left at the rack/docking station, so I figured it must be my lucky day. I went to the machine (which looks more or less like a parking meter if you have no clue what I’m talking about) to book/rent my bike. This was the first time renting one of these babies, so it took me a while until I got the release code.

In the truest meaning of carpe diem another Londoner thought the same thing. However, I think he was a member of the Santander bike thing, which gave him a key of sorts or maybe he already had a release code (I’m not sure how all this works). Basically, he didn’t need to rent the bike from the machine. Instead he could unlock it himself with his key. Since it was the last bike in the rack I only saw his back riding away at the moment I got my release code, which by the way was valid for 10 minutes and only for bikes from this rack. FML!

I’ve been trying to muster the courage to make this happen for months and then I finally go for it, the bike rides away without me. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

My spirits were quite low. I think I need some professional help to turn this all around. Luckily my housemates are both armchair psychologists. I’ll ask them to help me through this very late childhood trauma.

Speaking of my housemates… we went to India the other day. I remember like it was last Saturday. I woke up a little later than usual – around 2 PM – and went downstairs to make myself some breakfast. Then Pilar had an idea and we all decided to go to have a late lunch or dinner ‘somewhere nice’ instead. It took ages to decide on a restaurant and then, once we found one, it was closed at the time.

So we went to a place Romario was familiar with. It was a 40 minute tube ride away in East Ham – the moment I came out of the station I felt like I was overseas. Everyone I saw was Indian. The only thing missing was the melting heat and chaotic driving which I would associate with that part of the world.

Anywho, we got to the restaurant. I can’t remember its name but it sounded like Abubu Khapapapi.  This was a proper Indian establishment – none of that watered down stuff they feed Westeners in central London. Everything was cheap as well, so I ordered a bunch of stuff as I wanted this to be as authentic as possible so whenever I saw the words ‘spicy’ in the menu I would order it (subject to it being vegan of course).

My food was spicy AF. I thought I could handle it but it was too much. Stuffing my face with dosas and curries, with tears in my eyes, wasn’t my best hour. However, Romario thought this was the funniest thing ever. Pilar gave up on the Indian train after a few bites and with a great amount of shame I must confess that I had to throw in the towel as well. The dinner was followed by our trio going to the pictures to see Tarantino’s movie The Hateful Eight – not his best, but worth watching.

unicorn

The next day I was at ZoukOff – a very cool monthly zouk event in London. Every party I’ve been to has been great. That’s where I saw Gerli. Well… technically we’ve met before but we never talked. I usually skip the small talk and go for a dance immediately. I’ve actually danced with her on a few occasions. Previously I thought that she was Norwegian – she looked very Scandinavian. We didn’t talk much because I was a bit shocked once I found out she’s from Estonia. But it was magical, just like seeing a unicorn.

Lots of love,

Ivar

From all smiles to painful everything

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At one point, I remember telling myself that I’ll check the time – if it’s midnight or so I’ll go home, otherwise I’ll be late for the next day’s classes. It was 2:30 AM. FML, better get going…

Getting back home i.e. to Martyna’s place (my AirBnB host), wasn’t that easy. It was a 30 minute walk away but I wanted to bus it, because lazy. The problem is that the night buses here don’t always stop at all bus stops – you need to hail the driver as if you’re on fire – and they might still miss you.

Since I didn’t quite know where I was going I figured that all I needed to do was to count the bus-stops and get off at the fifth stop (just like my GoogleMaps told me). Well… after a bit it became very clear that this strategy doesn’t work when the bus skips stops. In no time I was at the city center’s final station.

This was a tad bit inconvenient. At my lowest point of desperation I asked a cab driver whether he could give me a ride. His response was “I don’t speak” and then he rolled up the taxi window. Wanker! I was cold and unhappy and everything was shitty and he doesn’t even make an attempt to understand me.

Anywho, it took me a while to figure out the logistics of getting back to Martyna’s flat. The munchies hit real hard moments later – I ate everything I had, before I passed out to dreamland.

The previous day I packed my stuff and headed off to Warsaw to my very first zouk festival. In all honesty I didn’t even want to go. I was making all kinds of excuses – it’s going to be cold and I’ll get sick and won’t be able to properly train for the London Marathon etc. However, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

My flight was from Luton. I think I saw Annie Jaffrey at the airport. It might have been somebody else though.

I remembered the Jim Jeffries segment about plane etiquette as I was happily taking both armrests in my aisle seat (living dangerously!!!). Pilar gave me a book “A field guide to the British” by Sarah Lyall to help kill the time in the air. The book’s about an American who writes about living in the UK and getting used to the life here. I have to agree with a lot she said. I’ve been in the UK for two years and consider myself an expert on all things British. For example did you know that the part where you’re supposed to rinse the dishwashing liquid off your dishes is considered optional. People don’t talk to their neighbors but exchange letters instead. And there’s the thing about not heating their homes – they seem to like to freeze.

Back to Warsaw. I was all smiles after I got out at the train station. They have snow!!! It was the proper white stuff which doesn’t immediately melt like it does in the UK. I haven’t seen this kind of weather for about 4-5 years. It was beautiful. Things were looking good!

I spent the entire first evening chatting with Martyna (my AirBnB host). She’s lovely and made my stay in Warsaw very pleasant. Her apartment is beautiful and so nice and warm – nothing like the place in Angel which I call home.

zouk libre

The plan for the following day was to have a luxury day i.e. chill at a spa, have my nails done and get a massage kinda stuff. Then go to the Zouk festival. On my way to the ‘spa’ place I got a bit lost and went to a gym instead. I figured I needed to get in a 10K run anyway. Last time I was in a gym was 7 years ago. I did 13km on the treadmill and then surfed the internet in the ‘relax room’. It was quite nice actually.

I ran in my socks since I didn’t pack my running shoes. This resulted in two blisters.

I did a few classes at the festival and went to the party. I was about half an hour late to the party but still one of the first ones to show up. However, people slowly started to drop in and soon it was so crowded there wasn’t enough room on the dance floors – yes plural.

Saturday was similar – but classes started at 11:30 AM, followed by a party at 10PM. During our lunch break I went to get a cup of coffee at the hotel’s bar. The barman saw me and said something I didn’t understand. As I didn’t reply he gave up on me and approached the person behind me. Then I asked if I could get a black coffee. Here’s the transcript of our conversation (barman in italics): ‘One coffee!’ Yes, please. ’Black, not black, white!’ At that point I wasn’t sure I wanted my coffee any more. Black, please. ‘Here! Or! Take Away!’ Here. ‘6 zloty!’. Uhm, can I pay with my card? I think this is where the barman ran out of both patience and English – he gave me the POS machine to make the card payment. We never spoke again. After that Gestapo-like interrogation I finally got my cup of coffee which, by the way, was the best coffee I’ve had in a long time.

I got home around 5:30 AM, had a few hours of sleep and then back to school – classes started at 11 AM and ended around 7 PM. I had dinner at home and felt quite tired. I decided to squeeze in a power nap but woke up around midnight. Oh well, there’s plenty of time to get to the party I thought.

I’m very glad I decided to head back. I think I fell in love with Aoife (Ireland). She managed to hit me in the face twice during one song. I guess this brings good luck. 😀 I’m not sure I’ve had this much fun dancing with anyone else. She was amazing!

The party ended at 6 AM and I bussed back home. The only warm place on the bus was the area where my thigh met the other lady’s thigh who sat next to me. Getting off a bus is a bit of a mystery to me. The driver doesn’t open the door. There seems to be a button somewhere but I always fail to find it. Every time that happened the bus driver shouted something at me – probably profanities to express his disbelief about how stupid I was. To this day I still don’t know how the doors open. It will forever remain a mystery.

I got home and everything was aching – my feet, shins, thighs, back etc. This dancing business is a serious workout. Would I recommend it to a good friend? Absolutely! I had a very good time in Warsaw. The Zouk Libre Festival was a great success and I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Poland.

Ivar

Thinking about gettin’ some Pussy

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secret-santa

We did Secret Santa at work. The budget was £10 and I had to make a gift for Dan – I’ve never even spoken to him before. I was at a supermarket and spent at least an hour trying to figure out what to buy and then ended up with nothing. I was running out of time. Next day I managed to strike up a conversation with Dan. I didn’t get much useful information out of him, so decided to change my research methodology. I asked a different colleague whether he knew anything about my victim. Theo said Dan spends a lot of time on Tinder (it’s a dating app kids). I crunched some numbers and then it hit me – I had to get him some Pussy. That would be hilarious. However, then I started thinking about whether this was OK in the office, whether it’s acceptable and what if Dan gets offended or something. I scared myself out of this wonderful idea. Turns out I’m a pussy as well.

By the way Pussy is an energy drink – google it. I’ve never seen it on sale though, but I know it’s real.

pussyenergydrink

So I went for the safer option and got him a book.

Turns out I’m an idiot as well. I didn’t know how Secret Santa works because I added a Christmas card to my gift which had “Best wishes, Ivar” in it. Did you know that the person receiving the present will not find out who he got her present from? I’ve always thought that it’s a secret up to the gift exchange. That’s when everybody finds out and before that it’s this big secret and all that. My colleagues found it hysterical that I managed to get this wrong. Leanne almost fell off her chair laughing about it.

You live and you learn.

 

We also had our company Christmas Party that day. A venue on Farringdon road was booked for us. In the beginning everybody was just talking and drinking. As the night progressed some people started dancing and then one girl pulled me in to join them on the dance floor. It felt quite weird to do that night club kind of dancing because I’m so used to zouk/salsa/bachata. And what’s the deal with girls holding their drink and purse whilst dancing – that’s just wrong. The struggle was real though – I defaulted to some very basic partner dancing but it was quite bad as the girls had no clue what I was trying to lead. A few were alright with the basics of basics i.e. shifting their body weight from one side to the other and repeat. Especially Katie – she was there at the Vinopolis wine tasting thing as well… I think she just felt a bit more comfortable because she knew who I was.

I stayed until the very end. It was entertaining to watch the men get sleazier and sleazier, gradually but surely. Oh, I feel so bad for you girls.

The party was good, much better than I anticipated. I would prefer my usual dancing parties, but hey, sometimes you need to mix things up a bit.

 

Merry Christmas!

Ivar

The sister I never had

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I could tell the plane had landed 10 minutes earlier than expected (according to the display). The display showed a plane from Rome landed before the one from Riga. I noticed the people coming through the international arrivals gate were speaking in Italian and therefore I knew my waiting time was about to end.
I was at Stansted airport waiting for Maris – my half-sister. The last time I saw her was at the funeral. Back then I didn’t really talk to her. Prior to that I think it’s been about 10 years since I’ve seen her. So, as you might guess, I do not know that side of the family tree that well.
She is considering blessing the academic world with her presence at a British academic establishment. Two interviews were planned for Monday, however Sunday was wide open to do some sight-seeing in London. That’s where I come in.

LondonI put together a highly sophisticated agenda for the day with fun packed activities such as:

  1. taking the circle line from Liverpool Street towards Tower Hill, then realizing that Aldgate was the final stop, then tubing back to Liverpool Street station and then another go on the circle line towards Tower Hill.
  2. Looking for whales and dolphins in the river Thames from Tower Bridge; spoiler alert – we didn’t see any.
  3. Checking out (from a very safe and financially neutral distance) all the cool places the Queen lives in, such as the London Tower, the Shard, the Walkie-Talkie, the Gherkin, Big Ben, the building I work in and the Buckingham Palace.
  4. Witty banter about all things London.
  5. Thames water taste-testing. I wanted to know if the water was salty or not but ultimately decided against touching and tasting that brownish-gray liquid in fear of contracting Ebola.
  6. Checking out a few buskers and scoring some massive highscores in the make-no-eye-contact-with-beggars or charity fundraisers game.
  7. Meeting Mr Squirrel and his birds – Swans, Coots and Moorhen – at St James’ Park.
  8. Seeing a corded phone in one of those red phone booths.
  9. Locating platform 9¾ at King’s Cross station.
  10. Enjoying an authentic British day with no lack of clouds, plenty of wind and a touch of rain.

I saw a lot of myself in Maris. It was clear that academics were the top priority for her at this time. However, as I’m nine years older and therefore nine times wiser, I cautioned her that there’s more to life. Traveling, living in foreign countries, starting a business, learning to dance or play an instrument etc – each teach valuable life skills which no university will ever come close to.

Maris, I wish you all the best. You’ve got a bright future ahead.
Ivar

Aaaaaannnd… it didn’t work

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did not work
I was not the chosen one. Jamie (the guy from my first choice rental) did not get back with any positive news. So, I had to find an alternative home very quickly. Another viewing later that day and since it was immediately available I decided to go for it. This place isn’t quite ideal (only available for 4 months) but it ticked so many of my boxes. The thing was, these guys wanted two months’ rent and a deposit – almost £2,000 in advance without a contract or anything. I figured I can trust them and coughed up the money.
As you can see, I have learned nothing from my past. Or maybe the lesson is that sometimes you get screwed, but that doesn’t mean that you should lose faith in absolutely everyone.
By the way the pigs sent me an email regarding my fraud report to get my holding deposit back from the previous new “fake home”. The message was along the lines of “we have received an unusually large amount of similar complaints/reports but will aim to respond within 28 days”. I will be very surprised if their final response is anything different from “we will continue to monitor the situation”.

 

About mah new crib

The good: the other co-habitants are about my age and seem to be very friendly. Pilar is from Spain and she’s a consultant of sorts, so is Romario (Dutch). Big plus, Romario is vegetarian – it’s so much easier to live with like-minded people. Plus we’re all non-British and therefore we can relate to our daily “struggles”. The location is very good, very close to Angel station – only an extra 8-10 minute walk to work from my previous home, but I can manage that. It’s closer to the supermarket and a farmer’s market is very close by as well.

The bad: The place has a very small kitchen – only room for one person. It’s tiny.

I’ve only been here a few days but I like it. I’ve noticed that Pilar talks a lot, in general. She’s always on the phone or on Skype. I will need to get used to this. Otherwise she’s funny.

I’m sorry to disappoint that I didn’t end up homeless and that you’re not reading about how I spent a weekend with my fellow dumpster-divers. Maybe in 4 months’ time. Stay tuned!

Ivar

This might not work

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I just got a text from the agent who showed me the allegedly available room. He said ‘it’s all sorted’ and I’ll get my money back in a week’s time. I don’t believe him. It takes a minute to make the online bank transfer, why do they need a week to do it? Besides I already lodged a fraud report to ActionFraud about these scammers. Even though I think the police won’t do anything, I figured I should still try. What can I say, I’m a hopeless optimist.

I’ve seen six  properties so far whilst looking for a new home. Here’s what it’s like to live a day in my shoes:

The first property was next to the canal and in a very quiet area. The ad said the landlord had two rules about the property, but he would tell me what they are face to face. So I met with Mahmood – a bearded man, vertically challenged, looked a lot like the Amish people. Anywho, he gave me the house tour (the house was beautiful). So far so good… until Mahmood decided to fill me in on the house rules. He said he’s an Asian muslim and has two rules. Number one – no guests can come to the property. Number two – I can’t consume any pig or alcohol in the property. Two rules became many very quickly. I wasn’t allowed to bring any drugs to his home, I could only use the washing machine once per week etc. Yeah, he actually lectured me about drugs over there. I was fine with the “no eating pig” rule but I can’t see myself living a single day without having prostitutes over and doing a line of coke and washing it down with some vodka whilst waiting for my washing to finish. No deal.

The second property was the scam one.

I had three viewings yesterday and I really liked the first one. It was very close to where I already live, near Exmouth Market and I got along really well with the tenants. I think I’d fit in well.

The second viewing was just 10 minutes down the road. I got there and I saw one guy in front of the main door waiting. He was competition. Both of us walked into the flat and were greeted by another five competitors. The place was crowded as hell. One guy showed us the flat and then said the current tenants would like to have a chat with each one of us to see if we’re a good fit. They proceeded to chat with each would-be-tenant individually and asked the other six competitors to wait outside in the hallway. I thought this was ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better example of inconsiderate behavior. Wow… you can’t treat people like that. I just walked away.

The third flat was a bit further away in Fitzrovia – very close to the BT tower near Regent’s Park. Maria gave me the house tour and everything seemed OK. I wanted to have a chat with the other tenants – Paula and John. They were all so young – early twenties. John had this Harry Potter look going for him. I thought it was funny. Paula was very small, young and shy. I didn’t quite connect with the younger crowd and it felt like they wanted me to leave. For example: every time Maria asked “do you have any other questions,” the tone of her voice translated to “just fucking leave already”. My attempts to turn the situation around failed miserably – my questions about their hobbies, interests, work and study resulted in one word or short sentence replies. I became rather uncomfortable and gave up on the younger generation. As I walked back home I pondered about what had happened, whether I looked weird, smelled bad or what was the case?

Today I only had one viewing. The flat wasn’t anything fancy. In fact it was a dump by anyone’s standards – a lot like the place I live in right now… so it felt like home already. However, the dump part on its own is not a deal breaker – I’m a simple man, fancy doesn’t do much for me. I only met one of the tenants – Lauren, she seemed lovely. My biggest critique was that the flat did not have a living room (the available room used to be a living room a long time ago). However the place was cheap as chips and had two balconies. I love a good bargain and I think I could pimp my crib quite a bit if I moved in (get a TV, a carpet, nice curtains… you know turn myself into an interior designer for a day or two).

At this point I think I liked the Exmouth Market flat best and today’s flat would be my second choice. I remember Jamie (the guy from Exmouth Market) saying that they were going to continue showing the place to people until Friday and then make their decision.

So, the question is: do I gamble or do I not? If I say yes to Jamie and wait for him to get back to me on Friday, the second property (the cheapo place) might be gone by that time. If I go for the cheapo option I will make sure that I don’t get my number one choice. Decisions, decisions…

Then I remembered something I read from Seth Godin’s blog. He basically said that anything worth doing might not work. Who am I to argue with that golden nugget?
This-Might-Not-Work
I decided to gamble.

I contacted Jamie (the guy from Exmouth Market) and left a voicemail and a text to let him know I want to rent the place. Stay tuned!

Ivar the soon to be homeless gambler