Monday, October 17th 2005, first "real day"

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After a lazy sunday, monday was all about finding a flat and a job. I had booked the hotel for a week so I had to find a place to stay quickly. Armed with my "London Bible" I made my way to the first letting agent. Being Swiss and used to cleanliness and tidyness I was a bit surprised by the mess in the office but didn't let this get into my way. I paid the usual fee - learning later that it was too high and good for nothing - and made my way to the 3 flats he organised for me to visit.
It had to be a studio, preferrably in a nice area. Not that I had any idea where the nice areas in London are, I knew about Knightsbridge, South Kensington, Chelsea, Fulham and a few others. Needless to say that there was no way I could ever afford to live there, even bedsits were too expensive.
I spent Monday travelling first to West Kensington - which is clearly NOT a nice area, then to Putney, then to Holland road. I saw 3 studios and funnily they got worse one by one. You don't expect a ballroom for 150 GBP a week but a 10sqm hole that stinks of smoke and other non defined odours with toilet to share is below my level of comfort.
This evening, I went back to the hotel with blisters on my feet, tired and hungry having forgotten to eat all day. I certainly wouldn't give up that quickly, well, not that I could but my levels of expectation regarding accomodation sunk that day - a lot.

I went down to the Indian Restaurant right in the hotel for dinner that night, feeling like I not only deserved a good heavy indian curry but also that I could certainly take it - calorie wise.
It was one tasty curry, that until I had a quick glimpse into the kitchen. Watching the cook slicing chicken, I saw a piece fall on the floor. I also saw him pick it up and putting it back into the bowl with the other slices. I was hungry enough to finish my meal but it did somehow taste a little less enjoyable after that... It's true what they say: You don't know what happens in restaurant kitchens and you shouldn't know!

I spent the rest of the evening in my room, which had an amazing view over the victorian buildings on Gloucester Terrace.

http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?hl=de&q=Paddington+London&ie=UTF8&ll=51.514189,-0.179252&spn=0.00464,0.009613&t=h&z=17

I then enjoyed the beauty of these buildings, all the same, same entrances, same colour, same windows. It was only later that I understood how this is part of the English way of disapearing in the crowd, of not showing any identity to strangers. This may be beautiful to the eye when it comes to buildings - it's not so beautiful when you travel to and from work in rush hour and observe the people in front of and next to you. All the same expression, or lack thereof, sitting or standing there like they were not really there. Not reacting to anything, not looking at anything and God forbid anyone. The more apathic they are in daily life the crazier they get when they're drunk, but that's another story - later more.