One of my first homes in London was in South Kensington which, as you can imagine, is a very expensive part of town. I was absolutely blown away by the beauty of this area and was over the moon when “Lucy” and I managed to find a cheap room in one of those white town houses.
The owner of the apartment was a very mild-mannered and polite Algerian guy in his early 40s. He travelled a lot due to the nature of his work and was therefore searching for someone to look after his place while he was away. We were happy to oblige because his home was gorgeous and had access to one of those private gardens, just like in the movie Notting Hill (Sorry! I know I should know better but it’s my guilty pleasure). The owner showed me around the home and explained how everything works. He had a long list of rules and expectations and he explicitly said “No guests!”.
When “Lucy” and I woke up the next afternoon and realised that the cat had left the building – it was time for mice to have some fun! We went to the garden and had a boozy picnic and “Lucy” told me about this South-African guy she had met in the bar she worked at. She suggested we had a small gathering and invite a few people over, including the new love-interest. At the time it seemed like a genius idea because, quote, “we’re going to be really quiet”. It was all going to be fine!
The only guest who showed up on the night was the South-African surfer dude. He was ridiculously chatty, very loud and “super crazy”, one of those desperate people who has no personality so they invent one for themselves. Anyway, I was pretty tired and drunk, so I decided to leave “Lucy” and that Crazy Dude to it.
Few hours later, I was woken up by inhumanly loud shouting coming from outside. I was still a bit drunk, so I slowly staggered out of the bedroom and found “Lucy” on the kitchen floor. The furniture and walls that used to be white, were now covered in some red goo. I quickly realised she had done what any normal person would do – cook ridiculous quantities of tomato soup at 3am in the biggest saucepan known to humanity. Needless to say, she was completely fecking drunk and she didn’t make any sense.
Things got even more surreal when I went to see where the hell that shouting and banging was coming from. I went to the living room, looked out of the window and saw the Surfer Dude outside the door, demanding that we let him in. I had no idea what the hell was going on, but I decided to threaten him with police if he didn’t stop this shouting. I can’t remember what happened next but he finally left and I went to bed to sleep this nightmare off.
Next day went wrong the very second I woke up to 5 missed calls a text message from the landlord, telling me he’s coming home the next day.
What followed next was like a montage out of a teen comedy about kids who have thrown a massive party and realise that parents are coming home sooner than planned. But my movie had a twist – I was way too old for this shit!
I woke up “Lucy” who was still completely battered. I was too pissed off to take any nonsense, so I made her wake up and clean up the mess in the kitchen. The soup was EVERYWHERE! On top of it all, there was a trail of red dots on the beige carpet outside the kitchen.
After some serious scrubbing, we finally managed to get the flat back to its former self but the carpet was still a slight worry. We hoped the situation would somehow magically resolve itself.
“Lucy” conveniently had work the next day, so it was up to me to face the landlord! Awesome! When I first saw him, I instantly knew that he KNEW! We exchanged pleasantries and he suggested we went out for a coffee.
The walk to the cafe was the most awkward thing I’ve ever had to experience. We both knew we knew. We took a seat and he told me that the neighbours called him to say there was some guy banging on doors and screaming. I realised there was no way to blag myself out of this pickle, so I decided to be completely honest with him.
He calmly finished his tea and explained that it was time for us to find a new place to live.