LIFE IN THE WICK

While most people my age were beginning to settle down in life, with mortgages, marriage and children, I did the opposite and reverted back to my youth, by living in a kind of adult halls of residence. It name for you that don't know is Oslo House and two and half years later I'm still here, refusing to grow up. I left home when I was 19, never really to go back for any length of time and never really wanting to go back either. For 8 years I led a nomadic existence, moving a least once a year, filling in the gaps with sleeping on sofas, living out of bags, and traveling the world for months with only what I could carry on my back as my possessions. This life style suited me, I have not the reasons to answer, why. Sometimes there are no reasons, that's just the way it is, but I missed a place to call home.

Then I found it! Home! Home is in the middle of an ugly industrial estate in East London; in an old clothing factory; in an artists community; in a flat with four people just as crazy as me and living with two gay cats. My home is Hackney Wick, Oslo House and though it may not be every ones idea of home, I love it!

I wake in the morning to Thenasis, my Greek neighbour, singing songs of his native language or bad 80's pop. I fall asleep to pounding beats of house parties along the corridor or below my floor. I leave the house sometimes to find the alcoholic artist who lives a couple of doors down, passed out on the floor, amongst the garbage bags that the neighbours can't be arsed to take down stairs.

I leave the building to find the old crazy lady from OAP home down the road has escaped again, laughing to herself insanely in the middle of the road. The Tramp with the simmer frame is holding on with his last bit of conciseness with a bottle of Gin beside him. The man with one leg is pushing his children in the buggy, into the shop with the help of his false metal leg, fag in mouth sprinkling ash as he goes.

This is the local friendly neighbourhood. It works this strange neighbourhood, mixing, working class estates with the young hip creative generation all wanting to live like the common people even though, most probably never have had to experience poverty in there middle class up bringing.

I have put down as much roots as I can, for me. I brought a bed, a washing machine, and fridge freezer. Not big deals for most people, but very scary for a girl that would not buy anything that would not fit into a Nissan Micra!
It's funny where people find themselves in their comfort zones. If you told me I would be living here 10 years ago I would have told you to piss off, but to be fair I was never going to live some where normal. As ugly; as noisy and as mad it is, there is no place like home!