Monthly Archives: April 2015

In the name of charity

So we have to move.

We got evicted over some ruckus over housing standards that someone complained about and some guy (apparently rumoured to have fled to South Africa, what a winner) having drugs in the building when they did inspection.

At least, those are the reasons we were told. What the real reasons may have been I don’t know.

All I know is we were in a guardianship programme and didn’t have actual tenancy rights. And the fool who went to council and complained is an idiot because we all received letters personally signed from a housing officer saying we could go speak to them about tenacy ‘infringements’. The biggest ‘infringement’ being eviction but what do they expect me to say to that? Because the carbuncles that are apparently us will have to move on…out of the housing officer’s path – problem solved!

Regarding the drug addict/dealer, they give regular updates when they will do inspection – it does not take a rocket scientist to HIDE THE ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES IF YOU MUST DEAL IN SUCH THINGS.

I think Peabody Estate and I have no shame in naming them now, have a lot to answer for. I have always respected their housing stock and housing standards but they really gave the 60-100 odd of us ‘protecting’ their property a bum deal. Especially given they only plan on considering development in September.

I didn’t realise how fond I was of the neighbours I try not to talk to til we had to go.

Most people on this particular site, the lady who does the viewings for the guardianship programme said, are ‘hippy professionals’. It was a very eclectic mix of people who mostly ignored each other and lived in almost harmony in, in some instances, very large spaces for pretty cheap.

We counted among that group. Which meant we somehow accumulated furniture.

Lots of furniture.

And stuff.

I am not even sure what stuff  makes up this stuff.

I just know now I need to get rid of a lot of it. And I am not alone. Apparently someone bought a treadmill then discovered he had to move. Treadmills don’t fold down small even in medium size spaces.

The rooms on offer, through no fault of their own, in order to rehouse us by the programme are generally substandard in size and location to what we had before.

So many of us will return to traditional tenancies or have to downsize. Or both.

Mostly both.

I have blogged before how I miss Africa in these instances. Furniture does not actually hit the pavement looking for some random to pick it off the kerb. You always know someone who knows someone who knows someone who needs it. Even the sofa in our house where the slats went spongy and the cushions became like crumbly cheddar cheese so when you sat on it, you sank into the middle and vanished, that found a home. The outer frame was solid wood and for some inexplicable reason our gardener wanted to cart it across a border to a new home.

In this place you can barely give the stuff away. And honestly, you are better charging people a bit for it. Or they don’t take you seriously and don’t turn up.

I live on an island. At this rate though, the landfills we are creating could be used for land reclamation.


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