So we’re now residents of W8, The royal borough of Kensington and Chelsea – 30 Seconds walk from Notting Hill Gate, and I couldn’t be happier, the flat is slowly taking shape, and the landlord seems to be a sorted chap, so no more ranting to get simple household jobs sorted.
Isn’t Notting Hill a fabulous place, full of fantastic shops, brilliant restaurants, the most fantastic walks: through Hyde Park, down to Holland Park, or along Kensington High Street to Kensington Gore, I love the place to bits, it’s just fab isn’t it!
We were sat in Notting Hill last night having an all day breakfast for dinner, (confused yet?) and I realised how long it is since the first time I ever set foot in what’s become my favourite part of West London, and it’s years, and for someone that’s never lived there (not yet anyway) it holds a helluva lot of memory’s good and bad for me.
It’s true when they say that London is a city made out of small villages: You have eclectic Soho, fashion conscious Kensington, laid back Greenwich and bustling Notting hill, to name but a few, they even have there own postcodes (normally)… Why therefore did one of the estate agents I was talking to yesterday show me houses in completely the wrong area of town? I gave him very specific area names and their postcodes, W8, W2, W10, you simply can’t mis-understand that – the postcode areas are clearly shown on any map of London, and what’s more the map with the postcodes was pinned up against his desk!
Anyhow, it’s very unlikely we’ll be going with that particular estate agent anyway, because the only nice property they showed us was stuff that we’d already been shown by Chard but it was always more expensive than the prices Chard had offered us, the other stuff this other agency showed us was *awful* – I mean positively dire, and I told them so: which I don’t think they liked, but they at least got an honest opinion.
It’s not difficult to listen to customers needs, just to shut up and listen, don’t interrupt, just listen – that should be a mantra pushed onto anyone in any customer service industry, another recent classic is my old bank: I spent 45 minutes shutting down my accounts at Barclays so I could move to a better bank, I signed off all my accounts, waited for mandates to be printed, stood in a queue waiting to withdraw all funds and finally signed a form saying *why* I’d left Barclays, and yet: they’ve not closed the account down: Direct debits are still going out of it: So congratulations go to Barclays Bank – You are officially January’s first Fuckwits.
And then the heavens opened… and my god did it rain! It doesn’t seem to have stopped raining all day, and it’s turned every street, pavement, drain and kerb into lakes and torrents, which was just marvelous for me to go out house-hunting in. To say I got wet would be the understatement of the year, soaked through, to the skin is probably a fair comment. Let’s hope tomorrow is dryer!