Making Your Friends Homeless

‘How long is it going to be for?’ I asked as my friend desposited yet another bag in the hall of my house.

‘Oh maybe just a couple of weeks’, he said nonchalantly, ‘I thought I had this place lined up in Hammersmith but they went with someone else. So I’m really grateful for you letting me crash until I find somewhere else. Can you give me a hand with this box? It’s got all my CDs.’

And so began one of the most tortuous parts of my time in London. They say ‘heavy is the head that wears the crown’. I say, ‘naive is the person who thinks that a couple of weeks means a of couple of weeks.’

It all began late at night with a phone call. A friend of mine was moving out of his place in Tooting and into a brand new house. The problem was that there was a two-week separation between the time he had to be out of his old place and when he thought he would be setting himself up in his new abode. Looking to repay some of the hospitality karma that I have received during my various moves, I invited this friend to pass the time at my house, little knowing what possible dangers were waiting for me.

First was the sheer amount of stuff he kept on bringing in. Although I wasn’t actually present I’m pretty certain that Hannibal crossed the Alps with less baggage. With only a patch of visible floor space, my spare room quickly took on the appearance of the British Museum archive and I just couldn’t believe how someone could accumulate so much stuff. When pressed on how he had come to acquire all that was around us, he simply required, ‘I just think it’s nice to be able to look back at your old school reports.’

The second problem was the reliability of my new lodger. Due to my house having special locks that require a lengthy process to be fulfilled until spare keys can be obtained, I felt obliged to hand over my set given how late I am usually out. The thinking was that he would arrive home before me and then be able to let me in. However, what transpired was rather different. On a whim, my new housemate would go out for walks, meet-ups with friends, the odd art-house European film without telling me, leaving me standing like an idiot on the front porch of my own house.

I became more and more aggravated at the situation but also trapped by it. It was one of my own making and I didn’t want to see my friend out on the street. I asked how his search for a new house was going and his disappointed demeanour meant that I felt it necessary to be a more of an accommodating host. But then came the 2000 Chateau La Gaffeliere incident…

Tune in next week for Making Your Friends Homeless Part 2.

Photograph by Paul McGhie