Thursday, December 14, 2006


It's H's fault for spoiling us in London. As a result, I'm on the hunt for a vast and impressive New York loft (they always have pillars). Failing that I'll settle for an apartment at 151 Avenue B, where Charlie Parker used to live, or perhaps a place on Washington Square in Edward Hopper's house.......
I have to add that none of the above are looking particularly likely on our budget, or indeed otherwise. This is a rubbish time of year to be looking for an apartment - and very few have been advertised this week which even have walls. Though in NY it appears that you are allowed to build your own (?) - the estate agent 'code' for this being 'walls allowed'. Call me perfectionist, but frankly, if I'm paying several thousand dollars a month for a flat, I'd quite like it to have walls already.

And agents! Only a small step above amoeba on the evolutionary scale, and the step costs extra. How can it be that difficult? All they have to do is respond to my very precise criteria with something suitable. Instead they call me about 12 times a day with entirely unsuitable properties and advertise apartments which don't even exist. I refer you to my favourite joke of the moment.
How can you tell if an estate agent is lying?
His lips move.

We have six weeks left in which to find somewhere and move. And as the Berlin contingent will be with us at Christmas and New Year, I intend to spend at least 2 of these weeks in Olympic-level liver training activities. There is always the option that as poor lovely CNL has lost absolutely everything she owned in a warehouse fire, we move all our stuff into her place, or alternatively, we might yet be begging to stay where we are......


Blogger codenameLizzy said...

Yes please I'll have IT ALL.
Seriously though, good luck.
Fingers crossed.

9:33 AM, December 16, 2006  

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