I've just finished reading an excellent article about the buy vs. rent debate on housing. As a long-term renter with no forseeable plans to get on the property ladder (I wish) and an absolute buffoon of a landlord, I could relate and empathise with the words of Penny Anderson, also a long-term renter who commented thus:
"You have no security right from the start. If you ever question anything, if you ever stand up to your landlord, they will not renew the tenancy. The problems begin from the moment you start looking for a rental property, she says, with letting agents regarding tenants (and landlords) as easy prey for one spurious fee after the next.
In Glasgow, the letting agent said I had to pay a £150 'administration' fee. I told him that, in Scotland at least, the fee was not legal. He just laughed at me. While I was there, I saw other tenants being charged upwards of £100 for taking up references. As far as I could see, the agent made £250 for about 10 minutes' work running their details past a credit reference agency.
When you are a tenant, your house is never your home. Everything conspires to make you feel unsettled. You can't decorate it the way you might want it to be, and woe betide you if you put a nail in the wall. I'd give anything to have the money to be able to buy my own place."
I have been living in my current flat for just over three years now. Initially, we obtained the property through an agency, who charged us the customary exorbitant and unlawful 'administration' fee. The agency workers were disinterested, obnoxious and unresponsive, much like our landlord who we now deal directly with due to the agency withholding our rent, resulting in a request from him to 'deal directly with me, from now on'.
Since then, we have experienced ongoing problems with our landlord who refuses to respond to emails about the most basic maintenance requests, tells us one thing then does a complete u-turn and denies ever saying such a thing, waltzes in the flat without the requisite, legal 24-hour notice period and basically talks to us like we're complete reprobates. In May, he finally agreed to refurbish our bathroom, which had sunk to new depths in squalor. Initially, he agreed for works to begin at the end of June. They actually began on 30 November. Today is 10 January and although we now have a functioning toilet and bath, we still do not have a shower, an appliance which we consider pretty essential as working lassies. Who has time to run a full bath before racing out of the house each morning? Certainly not us, and we don't much like soaking in our own filth in a desperate attempt to get clean.
The high point for us was when works first began on the bathroom. We were directed to use the bathroom of the flat below, which was vacant, for the refurbishment period. Not ideal, but we were told that it would be finished within 7-10 days. Three days in we received a text message from our landlord at 1655 in the evening announcing that he "was coming to stay" to do some maintenance work. Alarmed, we wondered where he was planning on staying as we were using the vacant middle flat. We returned late that evening after going out for a friend's birthday to discover that he'd accessed the property and had kipped down in the aforementioned flat. WTF?! When we challenged him on this, explaining calmly and reasonably that maybe we didn't want to share facilities with our landlord, and asking him why he chose the one week in the year that we needed to use the flat to move in himself, he exploded, calling us unreasonable, accusing us of "impeding works" and - best of all- stating that "lots of people in Europe share bathroom facilities"... where to begin? Thankfully, he moved out after three nights. We're still awaiting completion on the bathroom, however.
To add insult to injury, our washing machine has now collapsed, so we've been using the machine in our middle flat until we get a new machine delivered (incredibly, he dealt with this matter relatively quickly, stating that he'd ordered a new machine for us. We were delighted, until he decided that we weren't worthy of a new machine and that we would have to contend with the ancient machine from the middle flat...). We'd put a large sign on the door to the middle property to alert the various tradespeople who stream in and out of the property at will not to lock the door as the middle flat was currently in use (i.e. by us). We also asked the landlord to pass on this information to his contractors. On Thursday evening, however, I returned from work to discover the middle flat had been locked. I called our landlord who said he would contact the tradesperson and ask them to call round and unlock it. Nobody has been round to do this and, despite a series of texts and emails to the landlord (standard), we are now without washing facilities.
The constant failure of our landlord to communicate with us, show us basic respect, respond to our emails within in a reasonable timeframe, address our modest maintenance requests, respect our privacy and the fact that although the property may be his, we've made it our home, has caused arguments between my partner, major stress, upset and tears, and a constant sense of paranoia every time I hear what I think is our door being unlocked (who's coming in this time?). I'm sick of doing admin at work all day only to return home and begin another series of email exchanges with our landlord, thanking him kindly for responding to point number four on our earlier email, but could he please respond to points one, two, three and five, too?
We are impotent to do anything and it's wrong. Millions of other people must be in the same position, if not worse, and laws are flounced time and again. I've contacted the local council and the CAB, to no avail. My next step is my local councillors, who I plan to contact about our ongoing issues and apparent helplessness as tenants, despite handing over the best part of £1K every month. Watch this space...
Penny Anderson, quoted above, also has a brilliant blog on the trials and tribulations of renting. You can find it here - definitely worth checking out.
Sunday, 10 January 2010
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Shameless consumerism...
'Tis the season... to consume?
Yes, yes - we all know that Christmas has deteriorated to a mass orgy of spending, debt and subsequent guilt, with the 'true' values being cast aside for the latest X-box/plasma widescreen TV/iPod/insert consumer good of choice here. As a veteran victim of debt, I am categorically opposed to anything that induces people to max their plastic so people can accumulate more stuff, and think kids these days get too much, etc. etc. blah, blah, blah...
For me, Christmas is usually the longest period of time I get off work in the entire year. This means the annual return to the familial north, ranting with my dear Father about politics, much to the despair of my poor Mother, overeating, drinking, relaxing, getting cosy, making time to read and catch-up with old friends and family. In all, a glorious time.
In terms of gifts... I don't buy many and, therefore, I'm not really expecting many - and this if fine. For this reason, however, please allow me a momentary escape in a fantasy world where I get whatever the hell I like. Wishlist as follows:
Yes, yes - we all know that Christmas has deteriorated to a mass orgy of spending, debt and subsequent guilt, with the 'true' values being cast aside for the latest X-box/plasma widescreen TV/iPod/insert consumer good of choice here. As a veteran victim of debt, I am categorically opposed to anything that induces people to max their plastic so people can accumulate more stuff, and think kids these days get too much, etc. etc. blah, blah, blah...
For me, Christmas is usually the longest period of time I get off work in the entire year. This means the annual return to the familial north, ranting with my dear Father about politics, much to the despair of my poor Mother, overeating, drinking, relaxing, getting cosy, making time to read and catch-up with old friends and family. In all, a glorious time.
In terms of gifts... I don't buy many and, therefore, I'm not really expecting many - and this if fine. For this reason, however, please allow me a momentary escape in a fantasy world where I get whatever the hell I like. Wishlist as follows:
Urban Outfitters
All Over Stud Drawstring Bag: £62
French Connection Bright Eyes Shirt: was £45, now £22.50 (but none left in my size. Damnation!)
French Connection Bright Eyes Shirt: was £45, now £22.50 (but none left in my size. Damnation!)
A day in a spa:
£ the sky's the limit, baby
Waiting for the Etonians by Nick Cohen: £8.57
A Life Inside - A Prisoner's Notebook by Erwin James: £8.99
Rough Trade's top ten albums of the year (plus £10 voucher): £99
Urban Outfitters Playful Promises Black Bra £24 (who could resist?)
Classic iPod: £189 (because I'm sick of lugging my portable CD player and extensive CD collection around)
A year's subscription to Bust magazine: $39.95
Play: The Nylon Book of Music: £7.92
Urban Outfitters black brogues: £32
An extra 12 hours in the day, every day: £ priceless
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Reasons for buying books
... as if any were needed! Great blog post to inspire and encourage.
http://litlove.wordpress.com/2009/11/17/reasons-for-buying-books/
Enjoy!
http://litlove.wordpress.com/2009/11/17/reasons-for-buying-books/
Enjoy!
Monday, 23 November 2009
Fight the Power!
Five questions to ask any powerful person (according to Tony Benn):
What power have you got?
Where did you get it?
In whose interests do you use it?
To whom are you accountable?
How do we get rid of you?
What power have you got?
Where did you get it?
In whose interests do you use it?
To whom are you accountable?
How do we get rid of you?
Friday, 20 November 2009
DEAL OR NO DEAL? Musical Deal-breakers
I’ve recently discovered a now defunct blog penned by none other than Sleater Kinney’s Carrie Brownstein (OMG!!) about music. Joy! I’m slowly and surreptitiously working my way through the archive whilst pretending to type minutes, or some such, in my dull as shit job and I’ve already found something which I can rant about/around: musical deal-breakers. Read on…
“Each of us has a deal-breaker when it comes to songs, albums, or musicians. It's an aspect we cannot forgive, a line that cannot be crossed. Maybe it's a sound we abhor in a certain context - a children's choir or horn section, for instance, intruding on an otherwise perfectly austere album in the name of maturity and sophistication. Or maybe it's a band that gives your favourite song to a burger or clothing or car company.”
Are you getting the picture yet? If so, where to begin? I have so many it’s difficult to know where to start. I think I should just make a list (yes!)…
1. Seasonal bells in otherwise non-festive songs: these tend to be shoe-horned into singles with a November/December release that may or may not be aiming for the Xmas top-slot. Now, I love Xmas as much, if not more, than the average Joe – it’s my longest holiday of the year! - but I still find the inclusion of ‘sleigh-bells’ in any credible piece of music an abomination. A good example of this is ‘At My Most Beautiful’ by REM where we’re forced to endure the sound of sleigh bells before the lyrics have even kicked in. Painful.
2. Crowd participation at gigs or in clubs: I should be more specific here; I’m not unduly opposed to clapping on demand and so on at gigs, even thought I recognise that this is quite a contentious issue for many of my fellow gig-goers. My phobia tends to focus on hip hop tracks which require the ‘crowd’ to repeat lines or, more often than not, noises, e.g. MC: “Everybody say HO!” Crowd: “HO!” MC: “HO, HO!” Crowd: “HO, HO!” “MC: “DISCO!” Crowd: “DISCO!” MC: “PARTY!” Crowd: “PARTY!” etc. etc… OR “wave your hands in the air, and shake ‘em like you just don’t care” etc. etc….you get the picture. This is a perfect example of something that is best enjoyed alone and in the privacy of your own home. The whole process reeks too much of organised fun, and gives me flashbacks to dancing (dancing?) to ‘Superman’ by Black Lace at school discos. Shudder.
3. MC instructions for “ladies in the house!” to “shake that booty”: similarly to my second deal-breaker, this aural and visual atrocity tends to take place in clubs and other venues containing crowds (yet, ANOTHER reason to revert to the safety of my cave…). Classic scenarios are characterised by either an MC or record instructing the “ladies in the house” to “rub on your titties” (Pharoahe Monche’s ‘Simon Says’), “work it”, “shake your asses” etc… I don’t know what’s worse – the isolated instruction, or the countless women who use the opportunity to gyrate their damnedest for the smirking males on the sidelines. Sigh. The only exception to this rule is “Hey Ya!” by Outkast which may want to see ladies “on their baddest behaviour”, but is closely followed by a directive to “shake it like a Polaroid picture”. How can lassies gyrate straight-faced to such madness? Inspired!
For the record (ha!), I’m actually a massive fan of hip-hop, despite its occasional misogynistic, homophobic, racist, capitalist and pro-violence tendencies. No, really! My old housemate’s musical deal-breaker was the misunderstood saxophone. Any tune that saw fit to include a saxophone solo struck pain into her very core. Speaking to other pals on the subject reveals similar feelings. Other examples cited in the comments section made me laugh so much I had to include them – see below:
“The classic move, of course, is for the band to "bring it down a bit" during one of their extended jams, and for the singer to introduce each musician ("and on bass guitar, give it up for Steve 'Big Thunder' Connelly"). The audience will politely applaud, and maybe the musicians will respond to their name being spoken aloud with a clever little fill or riff. Hot! Then one of the musicians will step to the mic and introduce the singer to what will hopefully be the biggest applause of all. And if we're very, very lucky, the singer will feign surprise at being introduced at all - as if they hadn't spent hours choreographing the whole thing back in their dingy lockout.”
This happened when I went to see Fleetwood Mac, recently. It’s so cringey it makes me laugh like hell, rather than irritating me.
“My deal-breaker: Guitar Solo Face. You know what I'm talking about. As if there is something incredibly physically demanding about playing the squealy high notes.”
Not sure what this looks like? See the bloke rocking out in the stylish camouflage get-up below...
“Each of us has a deal-breaker when it comes to songs, albums, or musicians. It's an aspect we cannot forgive, a line that cannot be crossed. Maybe it's a sound we abhor in a certain context - a children's choir or horn section, for instance, intruding on an otherwise perfectly austere album in the name of maturity and sophistication. Or maybe it's a band that gives your favourite song to a burger or clothing or car company.”
Are you getting the picture yet? If so, where to begin? I have so many it’s difficult to know where to start. I think I should just make a list (yes!)…
1. Seasonal bells in otherwise non-festive songs: these tend to be shoe-horned into singles with a November/December release that may or may not be aiming for the Xmas top-slot. Now, I love Xmas as much, if not more, than the average Joe – it’s my longest holiday of the year! - but I still find the inclusion of ‘sleigh-bells’ in any credible piece of music an abomination. A good example of this is ‘At My Most Beautiful’ by REM where we’re forced to endure the sound of sleigh bells before the lyrics have even kicked in. Painful.
2. Crowd participation at gigs or in clubs: I should be more specific here; I’m not unduly opposed to clapping on demand and so on at gigs, even thought I recognise that this is quite a contentious issue for many of my fellow gig-goers. My phobia tends to focus on hip hop tracks which require the ‘crowd’ to repeat lines or, more often than not, noises, e.g. MC: “Everybody say HO!” Crowd: “HO!” MC: “HO, HO!” Crowd: “HO, HO!” “MC: “DISCO!” Crowd: “DISCO!” MC: “PARTY!” Crowd: “PARTY!” etc. etc… OR “wave your hands in the air, and shake ‘em like you just don’t care” etc. etc….you get the picture. This is a perfect example of something that is best enjoyed alone and in the privacy of your own home. The whole process reeks too much of organised fun, and gives me flashbacks to dancing (dancing?) to ‘Superman’ by Black Lace at school discos. Shudder.
3. MC instructions for “ladies in the house!” to “shake that booty”: similarly to my second deal-breaker, this aural and visual atrocity tends to take place in clubs and other venues containing crowds (yet, ANOTHER reason to revert to the safety of my cave…). Classic scenarios are characterised by either an MC or record instructing the “ladies in the house” to “rub on your titties” (Pharoahe Monche’s ‘Simon Says’), “work it”, “shake your asses” etc… I don’t know what’s worse – the isolated instruction, or the countless women who use the opportunity to gyrate their damnedest for the smirking males on the sidelines. Sigh. The only exception to this rule is “Hey Ya!” by Outkast which may want to see ladies “on their baddest behaviour”, but is closely followed by a directive to “shake it like a Polaroid picture”. How can lassies gyrate straight-faced to such madness? Inspired!
For the record (ha!), I’m actually a massive fan of hip-hop, despite its occasional misogynistic, homophobic, racist, capitalist and pro-violence tendencies. No, really! My old housemate’s musical deal-breaker was the misunderstood saxophone. Any tune that saw fit to include a saxophone solo struck pain into her very core. Speaking to other pals on the subject reveals similar feelings. Other examples cited in the comments section made me laugh so much I had to include them – see below:
“The classic move, of course, is for the band to "bring it down a bit" during one of their extended jams, and for the singer to introduce each musician ("and on bass guitar, give it up for Steve 'Big Thunder' Connelly"). The audience will politely applaud, and maybe the musicians will respond to their name being spoken aloud with a clever little fill or riff. Hot! Then one of the musicians will step to the mic and introduce the singer to what will hopefully be the biggest applause of all. And if we're very, very lucky, the singer will feign surprise at being introduced at all - as if they hadn't spent hours choreographing the whole thing back in their dingy lockout.”
This happened when I went to see Fleetwood Mac, recently. It’s so cringey it makes me laugh like hell, rather than irritating me.
“My deal-breaker: Guitar Solo Face. You know what I'm talking about. As if there is something incredibly physically demanding about playing the squealy high notes.”
Not sure what this looks like? See the bloke rocking out in the stylish camouflage get-up below...
I’ve thought of another: flying-V guitars. Nuff said!
“The biggest deal-breaker of all time for me was Papa Roach exhorting the girls in the crowd at a show to take their shirts off and act up for the 'Girls Gone Wild' camera crews roaming the venue. Kudos to all the girls, as I didn't see any of them getting naked or otherwise 'wild'.”
Just another example of the myriad ways in which Papa Roach suck. WTF?
What are your musical deal-breakers?
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Definatalie... how do I love thee?
I just wanna give massive props and respect to Natalie, an Australian blogger and artist, whose blog I'm officially hooked on. She da bomb! I can't actually remember how the hell I found out about her, but I'm so glad I did. Her art is awesome, her style is fly as hell and her politics seem to shoot from the same canon as mine. One post, in particular, that I've been meaning to link to for ages now is this:Every female should watch, listen and take frantic notes - it makes sense!
Check our her blog on the 'links i've known and loved' to the right of this post.
The lass is fearless, make no mistake.
Thursday, 17 September 2009
Why I can't get to where I wanna go...
I’ve just returned from a deeply upsetting visit to the Oxford University Social and Cultural Anthropology Library or Tylor Library as it’s better known. Don’t get me wrong: the library itself was lovely, as were the staff who were incredibly friendly and helpful. As term hasn’t begun yet, the library was an oasis of calm and tranquillity and I spent a wonderful hour wandering round the stacks discovering lots of incredible books written by ex-tutors.
So, why was it so upsetting? Well, like with all things Oxford, my visit was another in a series of glaring reminders that I am positively not where I want to be in life. Being in the library reminded me of my brief and wonderful experience of being an Anthropology undergraduate in London . What a fantastic experience and privilege! As is so often the case upon reflection, I’d certainly do things differently, but I feel very fortunate to have enjoyed my studies as much as I did and to have done so in such a vibrant and stimulating environment.
It’s been six years since I graduated and I’m pretty much convinced that I haven’t had to use my brain once between the hours of nine and five during this period. I wasn’t particularly concerned about working in McJobs the first few years after graduating, but now I’ve finally grown up and started to develop a clearer idea of what I’d like to do with my life, it’s even more frustrating that I’m so stuck. Which, I am: impossibly, undeniably, infuriatingly. And it makes me crazy.
Why? Well, there are a few reasons. The first one I take responsibility for – but that’s as far as it goes. I’ve literally spent years punishing myself for bad financial decisions made when I was younger and dafter than today, and it stops now. I’ve pulled my head out of the sand and am now signed up to a debt management plan with the CCCS to pay back a small fortune every month in an endeavour to clear all my debt. If you or someone you know are experiencing similar problems with debt, I really recommend contacting them here. They’re a really brilliant organisation and free, which makes a refreshing change from all those mercenary set-ups that just wanna rip you off.
In order to progress up the damned ‘career ladder’ (especially in the field I’m interested in), you either need postgraduate or additional qualifications (my degree seems to be increasingly worthless with each passing year) and/or experience. Both of these options are hugely appealing – but not realistic. I can’t return to university because I need to be earning in order to pay off my debts, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t actually afford to support myself and pay my fees whilst I was there. ‘Internships’ and work experience really pisses me off because I can’t afford to work for free. I’ll say it again: I CAN’T AFFORD TO WORK FOR FREE. It fucking sucks and makes me so angry, that only a limited minority with family in London or parents who can support them financially are allowed into the club. I feel like I’m as good, if not better, than all those privileged arseholes – but I can’t get a break. Every possible organisation I research regarding internships requires a minimum commitment of a least a month. This sucks giant fucking balls.
It makes me SO angry, and then it makes me really upset. Because I wasn’t born to be someone’s fucking secretary, and I feel like more doors are closing as time passes. It’s completely futile, but I also feel angry at the fucking bank that offered a twenty-five year old a £10K loan (paid back at more than £13K) back when I was only earning £13K. Corporate responsibility, anyone?
Living in Oxford is strange… it’s a beautiful place, but it’s essential to remember that Oxford is not the rest of the world. It’s this weird microcosm of privilege and inequality and it’s something I really struggle with… that and being the oldest person at the bar at the ripe old age of – ooh – twenty-nine. Sigh…
So, why was it so upsetting? Well, like with all things Oxford, my visit was another in a series of glaring reminders that I am positively not where I want to be in life. Being in the library reminded me of my brief and wonderful experience of being an Anthropology undergraduate in London . What a fantastic experience and privilege! As is so often the case upon reflection, I’d certainly do things differently, but I feel very fortunate to have enjoyed my studies as much as I did and to have done so in such a vibrant and stimulating environment.
It’s been six years since I graduated and I’m pretty much convinced that I haven’t had to use my brain once between the hours of nine and five during this period. I wasn’t particularly concerned about working in McJobs the first few years after graduating, but now I’ve finally grown up and started to develop a clearer idea of what I’d like to do with my life, it’s even more frustrating that I’m so stuck. Which, I am: impossibly, undeniably, infuriatingly. And it makes me crazy.
Why? Well, there are a few reasons. The first one I take responsibility for – but that’s as far as it goes. I’ve literally spent years punishing myself for bad financial decisions made when I was younger and dafter than today, and it stops now. I’ve pulled my head out of the sand and am now signed up to a debt management plan with the CCCS to pay back a small fortune every month in an endeavour to clear all my debt. If you or someone you know are experiencing similar problems with debt, I really recommend contacting them here. They’re a really brilliant organisation and free, which makes a refreshing change from all those mercenary set-ups that just wanna rip you off.
In order to progress up the damned ‘career ladder’ (especially in the field I’m interested in), you either need postgraduate or additional qualifications (my degree seems to be increasingly worthless with each passing year) and/or experience. Both of these options are hugely appealing – but not realistic. I can’t return to university because I need to be earning in order to pay off my debts, coupled with the fact that I couldn’t actually afford to support myself and pay my fees whilst I was there. ‘Internships’ and work experience really pisses me off because I can’t afford to work for free. I’ll say it again: I CAN’T AFFORD TO WORK FOR FREE. It fucking sucks and makes me so angry, that only a limited minority with family in London or parents who can support them financially are allowed into the club. I feel like I’m as good, if not better, than all those privileged arseholes – but I can’t get a break. Every possible organisation I research regarding internships requires a minimum commitment of a least a month. This sucks giant fucking balls.
It makes me SO angry, and then it makes me really upset. Because I wasn’t born to be someone’s fucking secretary, and I feel like more doors are closing as time passes. It’s completely futile, but I also feel angry at the fucking bank that offered a twenty-five year old a £10K loan (paid back at more than £13K) back when I was only earning £13K. Corporate responsibility, anyone?
Living in Oxford is strange… it’s a beautiful place, but it’s essential to remember that Oxford is not the rest of the world. It’s this weird microcosm of privilege and inequality and it’s something I really struggle with… that and being the oldest person at the bar at the ripe old age of – ooh – twenty-nine. Sigh…
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