The End of Bermondsey Street

In what can only be described as a whirlwind weekend - which has left Dave and staring dumfounded-ly at each other, asking 'did that really happen?’ ('yes. it did') - we have decided to close a chapter of our life. We are moving house. We are leaving Bermondsey Street.

I can hear the gasps from here. From those of you who have visited and know how very cool the street is, to those of you who have heard the real estate trendsetter's rumbling grow ever louder. ... We are willingly leaving Bermondsey Street?

And neither of us quite believes it. We LOVE this street!

But then… I remember the apartment we live in right now - no working shower, no heating, no lampshades, the door handle has fallen off... and I think of the next apartment.... and all of a sudden it is the most exciting, most intelligent thing we have ever done. Well Dave has ever done anyway.

It’s not a big deal, but I always like to tell a story and today's story will go like this...

Dave has been looking to purchase a new apartment for some time now. Something more suiting of his metrosexual image. Because two things are annoying him - firstly - David Beckham wouldn’t be seen dead in our apartment (for all those reasons seen listed above and a whole lot more). Dave needs something more unique, more stylish, funkier and more just straight-out cool than Flat 4, 136 Bermondsey St. Secondly - a new element is moving into Bermondsey Street. Slowly slowly it is changing. Lets call them the spooner brigade trying to rough it. Its not as edgy as it was. As with all things that become cool, the moment they become mainstream, the cool turn away, onwards and upwards to the next thing. For example - the move of 'cool' from the East end of Adelaide to the West End.

ANYWAYS, to try and get this story back on its rails - Dave has been looking, on and off, for a couple of years for the perfect, unique place to call home. No desperate urge to sell the house, biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity. He wanted to stay in the area (a concept he battled with but decided that there isn’t anywhere cooler, but perhaps not on the actual street this time so we don’t get drunks from the pub buzzing our doorbell every Friday night) but perhaps move a little bit more south where prices are not so inflated, and people are more ‘edgy’.

On Thursday night he found it. On Saturday I saw it and agreed that it was pretty special. Someone else had made an offer and we needed to move fast. On Sunday an offer was made. On Monday it was accepted.

Wow.

Its an old, Victorian converted Schoolhouse, housing 10 apartments and beautiful cottage-like communal gardens where the tenants (children, sculptors, gay florists) spend their time chatting about cricket and swapping recipes. It is five minutes from our current house but further south. Our apartment is the penthouse (read: a ga-zillion stairs) which has it's own bell tower you can walk up and see a 360 view of London. It is 1600 square feet (HUGE for London) and consists of hugely high ceilings, open plan living/kitchen/lounge/dining with the master suite on a mezzanine. Up the spiral staircase, in the bell tower, is another bathroom. The house was owned by a gay film producer who had done it *immaculately*- you could not ask for better taste, nicer trimmings - and so much room to make your own improvements. We are already planning a couple of things to do. It was light, breezy, with excellent windows which circled the apartment. It was better than anything we had imagined.

HOWEVER....


and here it gets interesting...


HOWEVER...


Would you feel comfortable moving into a place where the previous owner was stabbed to death in the bell tower bathroom?


Apparently Dave and I do.....