Winning and Losing

We won the lottery last week. It's about time, given the amount we've contributed to other people's winnings - to finally reap a reward is only fair - but please, no begging letters; the winnings are accounted for already. (Ooh, that sounds a bit Jewish, sorry. See what happens when you inadvertently put the 'already' at the end of the sentence?)

When we moved to London a couple of months ago, it was in the gut-churning knowledge that the place is expensive, horrendously expensive. It certainly didn't look like we'd be able to afford anywhere to buy, so we decided to rent for a year and give ourselves time to do some research. Which we have done (it didn't take long), confirming that even the lowliest doer-upper in the worst street in the baddest of asses neighbourhood was beyond our means. In fact, we personify the mean in means.

That said, we did find one place right on Stockwell Road, though very small. We quite liked its proximity to transport. Liz even started making curtains for it. You'll recognise it if we get it - it's not often you see a bus stop with curtains.

On a more serious note, we did go and see a classic 'worst house in best street' place in Sunbury-on-Thames a couple of weeks back, and it really was on the Thames - the back garden had its own boat mooring. But oh dear oh dear - saggy, smelly, creaky... and that was just me; the house was worse, having had the same people living in it for about a hundred and thirty years. It oozed lots of things - damp, mould, strange slime - but most of all potential, because its location was hard to fault.

Worst house, best street (the one with the green balcony)

We did some sums (read: Liz did a heap of research and calculations, a spreadsheet, a PowerPoint, two white papers and a projected financial flow chart), found a mortgage broker with a sense of humour, and put an offer in, which sank and disappeared as quickly as a pebble kicked into the river at the bottom of the garden. The estate agent’s laughter could be heard as far away as Clapham.

Half a million quid will buy you a one-, maybe two-bedroom flat in inner London (inner, not central, don’t be daft), £750,000 a small two-bedroom terraced house in Brixton in need of a paint. Dream of an elegant three-storey Georgian edifice and you will wake up with a start when you realise you don't actually have £1.5 million. And even that's for a wreck that needs full renovation by a team of Polish builders. And where are you going to find them with Brexit in progress? (You can't use 'Brexit' and 'progress' in the same sentence - Ed.)

Living on a boat, a possible option...

You could live on a boat of course - don't think we haven't considered it - but even then you need to buy a boat with a mooring, otherwise you're forced to do what's called 'continuous cruising', which means that under the Canal and River Trust's rules you aren't allowed to spend more than a fortnight in any one spot. You must move every two weeks, and not just a boat's length down the canal - you're supposed to cruise somewhere else. And keep doing it, an itinerant afloat, endlessly haunting the waterways in search of a place to hang your skipper's hat.

However, there could be good news, as we've found a place that’s only just come on the market overlooking the Thames and Kew Gardens out Brentford way, which we're going to see this coming Saturday, our lottery winnings in hand. The £2.50 should just about pay for Liz's train fare.