Flat Hunting: Days 2-5

On Tuesday, August 28, Tom and I really got down to serious flat hunting.

We started by giving Garrett and Tallis something more interesting to do: a sports-themed summer camp. I combed the internet and found only one camp available in all of London. I suppose that everything else was either full, or the programs didn’t want to run a camp on the last partial week before fall term started (bank holiday on Monday). We were lucky. The camp had swimming, tennis, arts and games; both of them could go to the same camp; it was only a half mile walk from our flat; and they had an “extended hours” option that we used on Friday for our flat-seeing marathon. The boys loved it, Tallis made a friend with whom he had a fun playdate this week, and Tom and I could walk and walk and walk neighborhoods.

Tuesday we tackled Notting Hill. Linda, the home search consultant that Google contracted to help us, recommended that area. It has a great street full of interesting shops and a regular street market. It is full of parks, although most of them are gated and if you don’t live on the block, you can’t get the key. Still, very pretty. We stumbled upon a children’s library and took a storybook break for Weyland, who otherwise was just riding along on our backs, looking at the world. Just south of Notting Hill is Holland Park, which has an assortment of lovely playgrounds (so grateful that Weyland napped past that bit) and ball fields and a cafe. Just south of that is a more upscale district where we had a delicious Indian lunch.

We kept up our habit of wandering into rental agencies. (Although we were seriously inquiring after flats, it was also a good way to find a toilet and refill our water bottles.) After lunch an agent showed us two properties — one was a dump with a landlady who didn’t like kids, the other was a pretty cool maisonette. “Maisonette” means that an old house was converted, but instead of putting each flat on one floor, the floors are stacked one on top of another in a narrow space. Entertaining effect, might be a bit of a pain to live in. The one we saw was nice, and it was entertainingly close to Simon Cowell’s residence (our agent pointed it out) but we weren’t ready to make an offer and other offers were on the table already, so we let it go.

Wednesday we met Linda for the first time. She drove us around (and oh boy, am I glad I’m not trying to drive and park in London) to show us several likely neighborhoods. She also had an assortment of flats for us to tour, but all of them were wrong. Too expensive, often too large, too fancy, wrong sorts of neighborhoods. After several hours looking at flats and talking with her about what we wanted, what we liked, what we needed, she finally admitted that we were like no Americans she had ever helped relocate. I think this meant: grocery shopping and a decent kitchen was more important than nearby restaurants and bars, and we didn’t expect huge flats.

She picked an excellent restaurant for lunch — Banana Tree — and that gave us real hope for her ability to select flats for us.

Thursday we “did our homework” and walked through Islington, as she recommended. It would be a very convenient tube ride for Tom, but she’s right — not much greenery or park space. Boring shopping district. Even strolling down Raleigh Street (random detour through residential area) didn’t make us fall in love. Or maybe it was the intermittent rain. We told her to cross that off the list of places to look. And then we went back to the flat to rest for the afternoon. Even dedicated flat hunters get tired.

We also collected information about which secular state schools had spaces for our boys. There are Church of England and Roman Catholic schools that are free state schools, but those don’t seem right for our family. Many schools had no more spots for children in both years 3 and 6, and so our search was narrowed rather a bit by school availability. Without even  limiting for school quality or reputation, we found our housing impeded by school districting. I know this is normal, but it was the first time WE’D experienced having to juggle this factor in our home choice!

Friday our marathon started at 8:30. Weyland, who had been nothing but a little charmer on Wednesday, showed clearly how sick of this in-and-out-of-car-and-flats routine he was. He spent many short trips in the car riding on my lap, grabbing a quick nurse and avoiding the car seat straps. Show children just once that the rules can be bent, and you’ll suffer for it forever.

We were immediately cheered by the flats Linda had selected — the first three we looked at all seemed like good possibilities, and one was downright fantastic. She had preferentially scheduled garden flats after seeing how delighted Weyland had been on Wednesday by all the outside spaces. OK, he’d been delighted by the fifth floor balconies with flimsy railings, too, but I hadn’t been. Garden flats were a WAY better compromise.

One space that really awed us was a gothic house built for a wealthy merchant, that had been split into flats. Wood floors! High ceilings! Stunning shared garden! Although it would be a fantasy home for  history geeks, it was not right for kids. Sadness.

There were some furnished flats, blah but livable. There were plenty of unfurnished ones. We even looked at one place that was larger than the house we own in Durham. A couple of places were carpeted with white or very light carpets — no way on those. And carpeted dining room? Are you KIDDING?

Some were close to Hampstead Heath — very pretty “wild” outdoor space. Many had sweet little private gardens, although every time we would comment approvingly on the “little” garden, the agent we were with was usually quick to point out how spacious the garden was. Sorry guys, size descriptors do vary with your frame of reference, and no, we’re not adapted to London living yet.

One fairly likely place had the ODDEST sort of utility room. It was set up with a full washer and dryer (not this miniature combined washer /dryer contraption, which based on my experiences with the one in our temporary flat, is entirely inadequate for a family of five) but the washer was the only thing you could reach easily, and you had to bend over through a four foot high door to do that. To get to the dryer, you had to lean to the left, past the washer, and you could only half open the dryer door. Converted historic houses are WAY cooler than custom-built residential buildings, but they do have their share of quirks.

We came home exhausted with pages of notes and only one clear winner. We needed a weekend to think about the options, list the pros and cons, and talk to the kids.