Back from being back

I should have read Irvine Welsh before I moved there. In “Porno” Sick Boy describes my old neighbourhood exactly. I should have known better.

I recently went back to lovely London. It was great. The city showed off its beauty. I strolled around places that shaped my London experience. My old neighbourhood in Hackney for example. That was a tricky rebound. I liked my house and my neighbours. I hated my flat and my flatmate. Some of you will know and experienced it yourselves. The flat was - exceptthe bathroom, kitchen and doors (you could slip your two hands under them) - fine. I even had double-glazed windows (!) and a pet. Sadly, the windows were so badly installed that the curtains moved when it was windy outside and the pet was a mouse. I heard also a rat running beneath the walls. But it was alright. That’s London.

Surviving my flatmate and his habits was my everyday challenge. First I thought that he was a nice guy and we would get on. I wasn’t really interested in being best friends so I didn’t think much of the rejection of my invite for a beer on my moving in day as an omen for this living nightmare. But as time went by I recognised the sweet smell coming under the door every evening. And through the blinds of the window hole in the wall from the kitchen to his room. No it wasn’t a scented candle.

“That’s not upgrading his IQ, but fine with me”, I thought, having a Greenpeace history. A few months passed with some of his strange weekend benders ending at the flat with friends and a dog called “Chaos”. I was a bit pissed off with them, because they turned techno music on at 4 am and pooed the bathroom so well… full that I rather had a shower at the gym than home. Plus the gas was constantly empty, anyway. I made a few remarks that he must have had fun and that I could hear the music. I didn’t want to be the boring flatmate. I had a reputation to defend. I’m from Berlin.

-       “Do you know Berghain?”

-        “Yes.”

-       “Man, I love that city. The nightlife”

-       “Yes it’s fun”

-        “When I was there, I went to clubs until the morning and slept the whole day and went clubbing again. Berlin is so great!”

-       “Well Berlin has some other things to offer too”

-       “Yeah, do you know Simon-Dach-Straße? I went there!”

This was probably the longest conversation we ever had after I moved in.

Last December he met a girl. The weekend benders (Thursday to Monday) were then relocated to home, evacuated on Saturdays to a techno car park rave. Orders from the dealer were made at home: “I need some hash, ex and ketamine”. One point I found an empty bottle of methadone in the kitchen. When telling that in a pub to friends I was comforted with the comment: “At least he’s doing something against it”. Well, that doesn’t help me when the flat smells of fart, alcohol, sweat, shit and spots of blood in the basin. But the worst was the music. I cannot listen to any techno anymore. It hurts. Weeks of sleep deprivation imprinted my mind in disgust with this genre. I live in Berlin. The London experience has decreased my clubbing options in this city tremendously.

Of course I complained. I tried. But how do you get through to someone who’s never sober, always on uppers or downers? The neighbours didn't manage it, either.

You ask yourself why I stayed there for almost half a year? Because it was bloody cheap for London prices. Yes, I paid the same amount for my flat in Berlin for the room in hipster-Hackney. But hey, that’s a reasonable price!

That I never got my deposit back goes without saying.

Hackney Downs. I tried you and, no thank you. I rather enjoy my Kiez.