Saturday, January 03, 2004
Come to Darren Country
What's Bilborough like? A mixed council/owned estate, it's not as bad as many I'm known but it's still a bit, erm, frayed at the edges. I wouldn't call it rough, perhaps a little dodgy, but I'd certainly call it grotty. I really should have given it a proper once-over before I offered on this house, and taken a couple of hours to walk around it, but I didn't and am paying the price for the error. In terms of facilities, the place isn't too bad: a shopping area with a large Co-op (but no proper butcher's, to my amazement), a library, two medical centres, and I would add a dentist's except they've a sign in the window saying they've buggered off to Wollaton, a far more salubrious (and no doubt profitable) patch.
Trouble is, it's all so grotty. It's obvious from the dire state of the roads and pavements that Nottingham Council has written Bilborough off and isn't spending a red cent to keep them up to scratch. The pavements are covered in litter and copious dogshit, so that you have to walk along looking at your feet to avoid stepping in a little present left by one of the pack of resident Rovers. The street signs are mostly defaced with graffiti or vandalised. All the shops have shutters that are pulled down at closing time, and of course are also covered in graffiti - you can always get a feel for an area by the precautions, or not, shopkeepers take. In Clifton, a sprawling estate south of the Trent which I often passed through on my way to work when staying in Clifton Village, all the shops and churches board themselves up come night-time, and the place looks like it's under siege. Contrast this with Beeston, an affluent area populated by students and university staff, where the shop windows remain unshuttered with goods on display.
I wouldn't even mind the graffiti if it was at all artistic or imaginative, but it's just the spraycan equivalent of dogs pissing on posts to mark out their territory. I/we woz 'ere, this is my/our turf. As decorative, artistic, and imaginative as a dog turd, but unlike a turd non-biodegradable.
Another depressing feature of the place is the number of petty arsonists around. Every other bin seems to have been set on fire. When I went to the Strelley Road Co-op recently, some Darren had torched all the recycling bins which were still smoking. Even traffic bollards on the street next to me were burnt down a couple of months back (and of course haven't been replaced), which I really should have taken as a warning when I came down a little while before the move, and should have pulled out of the whole deal then.
A marked feature of the estate is the roaming mini-packs of Darrens that patrol the streets looking for something to relieve the tedium of their lives. They're not threatening as they can be on other estates I've known, but there's no question that they set a tone. When you've bunches of bored, sallow-faced, thin-lipped, pasty-skinned, baseball-cap-wearing young white lads roaming around aimlessly looking for an outlet for their testosterone and for chances to move up the pack hierarchy, then you've always got potential trouble, and that gives a place an edge and a certain feeling of hopelessness and dodginess. By default the Darren packs tend to colonise the streets, not so much by actively being menacing - most seem fairly harmless to me, although I've only been here a short while - but by generating a perception of low-level apprehensionin the population. People tend to stay indoors rather than go for a walk or for a drink down the pub, which makes the Darrens more noticeable and populous (by proportion), which in turn discourages non-Darrens from venturing out, and so on until you get to a kind of Darren Event Horizon. Come to Darren Country...
In a word: bleak. In two words: bleak and grotty.
Dire on the pub front - only two pubs on the estate, and both are shite in their own ways. The Poacher's Pocket is nice enough decor-wise, and does at least have one guest cask ale on, but is absolutely deadsville even on the thrice-weekly karaoke nights, and when there's no karaoke on they put the local commercial radio station on the blower so you can't even read the paper in peace and quiet. The Pelican, newly-reopened (brashly dubbing itself "Pride of Bilborough") after burning down in suspicious circumstances last year, is one of those typical large, brightly-lit, sparsely-furnished, Sky Sports pubs that you often find on large council estates. Without question it's a hard man's pub - you just have to see the tattooed big fuckers behind the bar let alone the punters. It's definitely not a place to relax in, but I'm sure you could get a fight any time you wanted and be in with the chance of a knee-trembler after closing with a pissed-up Darren or Sharon (depending on your sexual preference and level of desperation). You certainly can't get any decent ale.
Those are the only two pubs in short walking distance. A little further along there's the Rose on Strelley Road, which looks from the outside to be a Pelican clone and certainly doesn't have any cask ale. You have to get on the bike to get to nicer places outside the estate, in particular the Broad Oak in Strelley (10 mins uphill bike ride there, 5 mins freewheel back) and the Wheelhouse in Wollaton. Or you can get on the bus to the Beechdale on Wigman Road. It's notable, though, that you have to get on your bike to get a decent drink without risking getting glassed, and that there are only two pubs on what is a bloody big council estate - that probably says a fair bit about Bilborough, but I'd only be guessing if I were to say what. I'm sure I'll figure it out in time.
Surprisingly for such a large estate, on the whole the people here are kind and approachable, and you only have to go down the Co-op to know that there's a real community here of people who've known each other much of their lives. The women in particular seem to be strong and to run the place. This makes it all the sadder that the place is being neglected by the council, and being fucked up by a minority of vandalising braindeads too stupid to twig that you don't foul your own nest. The folk of Bilborough deserve better.
Even the kiddies are nice, at least those in whom the hormones haven't let rip. On a rough estate you'd expect the rugrats to all have 'attitude', to have surly expressions and only speak in mumbled monosyllables, to be suspicious of everything and everyone, and to generally be anti-social destructive brats. Instead, the Bilborough kids are open-faced and smiling and well-behaved.
Adding to my woes, there's my next-door neighbour, whom the previous house owners conveniently neglected to tell me about until I'd committed myself to the sale. She's a single mum with 3 little girls, aged between 4 and 7 I think, someone with whom I'd normally have a lot of sympathy because it must be a tough old life bringing up young rugrats on your own. Unfortunately, this mum isn't capable of speaking in less than a shout, and regularly screams and bawls at the kids, who themselves aren't exactly wee quiet mouses. Screaming, shouting and wailing regularly filters through the mercifully thick walls, accompanied by the banging of doors, cupboards, drawers, heads, and of course the stomping of tiny feet up and down stairs, sounding more like rampaging hippos in clogs than sugar-and-spice little girls. Oh, to be able to afford a detached house...
Unfortunately, it's plain that the minuses of Bilborough far outweigh the plusses, and it's certainly no place for a soft, quiet middle-aged wimp who's idea of fun is a night reading the papers at a real ale pub, and who needs quiet and peace as a staple diet. It's difficult to not be on edge here, and/or to be plain depressed by the place. It's certainly not a place to relax in. Although it could be worse (hell, I grew up in worse in Luton) it could certainly be a lot better, and it's plainly going downhill. From a financial viewpoint house prices are likely to rise rather slower here than in the rest of Nottingham, if they rise at all, and if the 'housing market' does go tits-up in 2004 as some predict then in a buyer's market Bilborough properties - old grey concrete 50s prefabs - are going to be a good way behind in the desirability stakes compared to more welcoming and less bleak areas of Nottingham. It might be a wise move to go walkies whilst the market's still buoyant enough that even these dumps are being snapped up.
At least, I think it's likely that I'll be moving from here in the coming year, for the sake of my nerves, mental health, and bank account. In my mind, a good test of how good, or not, a house/flat is, is to ask the question: would I look forward to, and enjoy, spending the day at home? In Mayland Avenue the answer to that was an unqualified yes. In Bilborough, the answer's a definite no - I'd rather be at work, where it's quieter and there's less aggro. And when you prefer being at work than at home, then it's plain that you don't have a home worthy of the name.
I really don't look forward to going through all the arsehole of moving again, but at least this time it'll be within Nottingham to somewhere I've been able to scope out thoroughly. I moved to Bilborough as much out of desperation to move somewhere in Nottingham as out of liking for the house. Had I known more about the area and the frayed-at-the-edges state of the house, and had I not been living out of a bloody suitcase for months, I'd not have come here.
So in the next few weeks I'm going to be off down the estate agents to see if I can get something halfway-decent in a halfway-decent area (with decent bloody pubs this time!). There's no way I'm going to settle down here. The best thing about Bilborough is that it's close to the motorway, and when the best thing about a place is the way out of it then it's time to look for pastures new.
Trouble is, it's all so grotty. It's obvious from the dire state of the roads and pavements that Nottingham Council has written Bilborough off and isn't spending a red cent to keep them up to scratch. The pavements are covered in litter and copious dogshit, so that you have to walk along looking at your feet to avoid stepping in a little present left by one of the pack of resident Rovers. The street signs are mostly defaced with graffiti or vandalised. All the shops have shutters that are pulled down at closing time, and of course are also covered in graffiti - you can always get a feel for an area by the precautions, or not, shopkeepers take. In Clifton, a sprawling estate south of the Trent which I often passed through on my way to work when staying in Clifton Village, all the shops and churches board themselves up come night-time, and the place looks like it's under siege. Contrast this with Beeston, an affluent area populated by students and university staff, where the shop windows remain unshuttered with goods on display.
I wouldn't even mind the graffiti if it was at all artistic or imaginative, but it's just the spraycan equivalent of dogs pissing on posts to mark out their territory. I/we woz 'ere, this is my/our turf. As decorative, artistic, and imaginative as a dog turd, but unlike a turd non-biodegradable.
Another depressing feature of the place is the number of petty arsonists around. Every other bin seems to have been set on fire. When I went to the Strelley Road Co-op recently, some Darren had torched all the recycling bins which were still smoking. Even traffic bollards on the street next to me were burnt down a couple of months back (and of course haven't been replaced), which I really should have taken as a warning when I came down a little while before the move, and should have pulled out of the whole deal then.
Darrens come in 10-packs
A marked feature of the estate is the roaming mini-packs of Darrens that patrol the streets looking for something to relieve the tedium of their lives. They're not threatening as they can be on other estates I've known, but there's no question that they set a tone. When you've bunches of bored, sallow-faced, thin-lipped, pasty-skinned, baseball-cap-wearing young white lads roaming around aimlessly looking for an outlet for their testosterone and for chances to move up the pack hierarchy, then you've always got potential trouble, and that gives a place an edge and a certain feeling of hopelessness and dodginess. By default the Darren packs tend to colonise the streets, not so much by actively being menacing - most seem fairly harmless to me, although I've only been here a short while - but by generating a perception of low-level apprehensionin the population. People tend to stay indoors rather than go for a walk or for a drink down the pub, which makes the Darrens more noticeable and populous (by proportion), which in turn discourages non-Darrens from venturing out, and so on until you get to a kind of Darren Event Horizon. Come to Darren Country...
Atmosphere
In a word: bleak. In two words: bleak and grotty.
Pubs
Dire on the pub front - only two pubs on the estate, and both are shite in their own ways. The Poacher's Pocket is nice enough decor-wise, and does at least have one guest cask ale on, but is absolutely deadsville even on the thrice-weekly karaoke nights, and when there's no karaoke on they put the local commercial radio station on the blower so you can't even read the paper in peace and quiet. The Pelican, newly-reopened (brashly dubbing itself "Pride of Bilborough") after burning down in suspicious circumstances last year, is one of those typical large, brightly-lit, sparsely-furnished, Sky Sports pubs that you often find on large council estates. Without question it's a hard man's pub - you just have to see the tattooed big fuckers behind the bar let alone the punters. It's definitely not a place to relax in, but I'm sure you could get a fight any time you wanted and be in with the chance of a knee-trembler after closing with a pissed-up Darren or Sharon (depending on your sexual preference and level of desperation). You certainly can't get any decent ale.
Those are the only two pubs in short walking distance. A little further along there's the Rose on Strelley Road, which looks from the outside to be a Pelican clone and certainly doesn't have any cask ale. You have to get on the bike to get to nicer places outside the estate, in particular the Broad Oak in Strelley (10 mins uphill bike ride there, 5 mins freewheel back) and the Wheelhouse in Wollaton. Or you can get on the bus to the Beechdale on Wigman Road. It's notable, though, that you have to get on your bike to get a decent drink without risking getting glassed, and that there are only two pubs on what is a bloody big council estate - that probably says a fair bit about Bilborough, but I'd only be guessing if I were to say what. I'm sure I'll figure it out in time.
People
Surprisingly for such a large estate, on the whole the people here are kind and approachable, and you only have to go down the Co-op to know that there's a real community here of people who've known each other much of their lives. The women in particular seem to be strong and to run the place. This makes it all the sadder that the place is being neglected by the council, and being fucked up by a minority of vandalising braindeads too stupid to twig that you don't foul your own nest. The folk of Bilborough deserve better.
Even the kiddies are nice, at least those in whom the hormones haven't let rip. On a rough estate you'd expect the rugrats to all have 'attitude', to have surly expressions and only speak in mumbled monosyllables, to be suspicious of everything and everyone, and to generally be anti-social destructive brats. Instead, the Bilborough kids are open-faced and smiling and well-behaved.
The Feckin' Neighbour
Adding to my woes, there's my next-door neighbour, whom the previous house owners conveniently neglected to tell me about until I'd committed myself to the sale. She's a single mum with 3 little girls, aged between 4 and 7 I think, someone with whom I'd normally have a lot of sympathy because it must be a tough old life bringing up young rugrats on your own. Unfortunately, this mum isn't capable of speaking in less than a shout, and regularly screams and bawls at the kids, who themselves aren't exactly wee quiet mouses. Screaming, shouting and wailing regularly filters through the mercifully thick walls, accompanied by the banging of doors, cupboards, drawers, heads, and of course the stomping of tiny feet up and down stairs, sounding more like rampaging hippos in clogs than sugar-and-spice little girls. Oh, to be able to afford a detached house...
More cons than pros
Unfortunately, it's plain that the minuses of Bilborough far outweigh the plusses, and it's certainly no place for a soft, quiet middle-aged wimp who's idea of fun is a night reading the papers at a real ale pub, and who needs quiet and peace as a staple diet. It's difficult to not be on edge here, and/or to be plain depressed by the place. It's certainly not a place to relax in. Although it could be worse (hell, I grew up in worse in Luton) it could certainly be a lot better, and it's plainly going downhill. From a financial viewpoint house prices are likely to rise rather slower here than in the rest of Nottingham, if they rise at all, and if the 'housing market' does go tits-up in 2004 as some predict then in a buyer's market Bilborough properties - old grey concrete 50s prefabs - are going to be a good way behind in the desirability stakes compared to more welcoming and less bleak areas of Nottingham. It might be a wise move to go walkies whilst the market's still buoyant enough that even these dumps are being snapped up.
Ah'm fer the off
At least, I think it's likely that I'll be moving from here in the coming year, for the sake of my nerves, mental health, and bank account. In my mind, a good test of how good, or not, a house/flat is, is to ask the question: would I look forward to, and enjoy, spending the day at home? In Mayland Avenue the answer to that was an unqualified yes. In Bilborough, the answer's a definite no - I'd rather be at work, where it's quieter and there's less aggro. And when you prefer being at work than at home, then it's plain that you don't have a home worthy of the name.
I really don't look forward to going through all the arsehole of moving again, but at least this time it'll be within Nottingham to somewhere I've been able to scope out thoroughly. I moved to Bilborough as much out of desperation to move somewhere in Nottingham as out of liking for the house. Had I known more about the area and the frayed-at-the-edges state of the house, and had I not been living out of a bloody suitcase for months, I'd not have come here.
So in the next few weeks I'm going to be off down the estate agents to see if I can get something halfway-decent in a halfway-decent area (with decent bloody pubs this time!). There's no way I'm going to settle down here. The best thing about Bilborough is that it's close to the motorway, and when the best thing about a place is the way out of it then it's time to look for pastures new.
It's all over...for now
Well, I finally moved on November 28th, over 4 months after first putting my house in Hull on the market in mid-July. And, by all accounts, I've had it easy, 4+ months being a mere bagatelle, a mere trifle, compared to the real trials and tribulations of house-moving. There's a lot to be said for motor homes... ;-(
Anyway, the moving day itself went ok, despite the Briefs not pulling their legal fingers out on transferring the money to and from various accounts, which only went ahead at 3pm. Luckily, my sellers, whom I'm on good terms with, had moved most of their gear out already and were happy for me to move my gear in without the money having gone over, which was also a relief to the guys driving the removal van. It was all done and dusted by 3pm, leaving me with a house full of unopened boxes, but at least I'd had the foresight to put a box aside with tea- and coffee-making stuff. Having moved well over 20 times in my adult life (although only once having taken part in a property transaction before) you learn these things from experience.
Now for the fun part - adding up how much it's all cost me financially (never mind any physical and mental stress, which is unquantifiable). The costs are divided into two categories: those integral to the moving and property-dealing process, and those incurred incidentally whilst working in Nottingham but living in Hull. NB: figures marked with * are conservative guesstimates.
Briefs:1006
Estate Agents: 1052
Surveyors: 365
Removals: 649
Total: 3072
On top of this I'd anticipated 800 stamp duty (1% of the sale price) but, to my pleasant surprise, it turns out that Bilborough is exempted by Nottingham Council from stamp duty on account of it being "disadvantaged". Of course the dark lining to that silver cloud is that the Council reckon Bilborough to be a dump, and I'm finding out the hard way that they're not wrong.
B&B; accommodation: 696
Travel: 240*
Food: 120*
Total: 1056
The incidental costs are far less than they could have been due mainly to my employers allowing me to 'work at home' for part of a week, so I was on average on a 3-day week during my 'interim' period. Had they, with justification, insisted on my being at work all 5 days, which I am after all paid for, then the incidental costs would have been at least 40% higher, probably more. Not to mention my staying one week at a campsite for peanuts, another week house-sitting my partner's sister for free whilst she and her man were on hols, and another week in Cambridge on work business - those 3 weeks must have saved me a few hundred quid.
So that's a total of £4128, at a conservative estimate, a good chunk of which had to be stumped up before the house sale. I racked up a credit card bill of over 3.5k, had an overdraft of 1500 with my main bank, and had to borrow 1500 from my building society. Had I not been able to get credit then I simply wouldn't have been able to move house - full stop. It's even debatable if I'd have been able to afford to sell the Hull house and just move into rented digs in Nottingham. I'm claiming back my integral expenses from mynew employer and hope to recoup a couple of grand, perhaps, although the downside of that is that if I leave the job in the next two years I'll have to pay all or some of my relocation ex's back.
This isn't even counting the costs I'm now racking up having moved into the house and found it to a bit, erm, deficient in some respects. So far I've had to:
Not to mention having to buy various odds & sods in terms of furniture, curtains (>£300), lighting, and the rest.
My partner objects to the last on the grounds that during those six months, in a 'rising market', house prices will have risen whilst you sit it out in rented, and she has a point from a purely financial viewpoint. On my recent experience, though, I'd have saved all my incidental costs, have flogged my Hull house quicker (being in vacant possession), have been able to work full-time, have been able to explore Nottingham and surroundings properly, would have saved the stress of weekly 'commuting' to Hull and back, and most importantly would have been able to find a nice place in a nice area having acquired some local knowledge. Instead, I'm in a so-so house in a grotty area with a screaming Mum and kids next door and packs of Darrens prowling the streets, and all because I knew next to nothing about Nottingham before coming here - had I had 6 months breathing space to figure the place out then I'd certainly have ended up with something better. And that would have saved me money in the long run, because I'm going to have to move again before the year's out before this place drives me bananas.
Anyway, the moving day itself went ok, despite the Briefs not pulling their legal fingers out on transferring the money to and from various accounts, which only went ahead at 3pm. Luckily, my sellers, whom I'm on good terms with, had moved most of their gear out already and were happy for me to move my gear in without the money having gone over, which was also a relief to the guys driving the removal van. It was all done and dusted by 3pm, leaving me with a house full of unopened boxes, but at least I'd had the foresight to put a box aside with tea- and coffee-making stuff. Having moved well over 20 times in my adult life (although only once having taken part in a property transaction before) you learn these things from experience.
Adding it all up
Now for the fun part - adding up how much it's all cost me financially (never mind any physical and mental stress, which is unquantifiable). The costs are divided into two categories: those integral to the moving and property-dealing process, and those incurred incidentally whilst working in Nottingham but living in Hull. NB: figures marked with * are conservative guesstimates.
Integral
Briefs:1006
Estate Agents: 1052
Surveyors: 365
Removals: 649
Total: 3072
On top of this I'd anticipated 800 stamp duty (1% of the sale price) but, to my pleasant surprise, it turns out that Bilborough is exempted by Nottingham Council from stamp duty on account of it being "disadvantaged". Of course the dark lining to that silver cloud is that the Council reckon Bilborough to be a dump, and I'm finding out the hard way that they're not wrong.
Incidental
B&B; accommodation: 696
Travel: 240*
Food: 120*
Total: 1056
The incidental costs are far less than they could have been due mainly to my employers allowing me to 'work at home' for part of a week, so I was on average on a 3-day week during my 'interim' period. Had they, with justification, insisted on my being at work all 5 days, which I am after all paid for, then the incidental costs would have been at least 40% higher, probably more. Not to mention my staying one week at a campsite for peanuts, another week house-sitting my partner's sister for free whilst she and her man were on hols, and another week in Cambridge on work business - those 3 weeks must have saved me a few hundred quid.
What's the bill, Bill?
So that's a total of £4128, at a conservative estimate, a good chunk of which had to be stumped up before the house sale. I racked up a credit card bill of over 3.5k, had an overdraft of 1500 with my main bank, and had to borrow 1500 from my building society. Had I not been able to get credit then I simply wouldn't have been able to move house - full stop. It's even debatable if I'd have been able to afford to sell the Hull house and just move into rented digs in Nottingham. I'm claiming back my integral expenses from mynew employer and hope to recoup a couple of grand, perhaps, although the downside of that is that if I leave the job in the next two years I'll have to pay all or some of my relocation ex's back.
This isn't even counting the costs I'm now racking up having moved into the house and found it to a bit, erm, deficient in some respects. So far I've had to:
- have a central heating radiator added to the front room (I'd foolishly not noticed the lack of one when viewing the house) (£300)
- have the central heating pump replaced before it went tits-up (£150)
- have a new TV aerial installed because the old set-up was, to use a technical term, fucked (£200)
Not to mention having to buy various odds & sods in terms of furniture, curtains (>£300), lighting, and the rest.
What's the SP, Aesop?
And the morals of the story are:
- Have deep pockets
- Have a good credit rating
- Be sure to leave yourself with a few grand to spend after you move in, because sure as dogs piss on lamp-posts you're going to find shedloads wrong with the house that needs spending on to fix
- Have a friend/partner/lover who's experienced in house selling and buying as their advice is invaluable
- If you're moving to a new job in a new town/city, put yourself in rented accommodation for the first 6 months so that you can a) avoid all the aggro of B&B; and travel, and more importantly b) you can suss out areas and houses.
My partner objects to the last on the grounds that during those six months, in a 'rising market', house prices will have risen whilst you sit it out in rented, and she has a point from a purely financial viewpoint. On my recent experience, though, I'd have saved all my incidental costs, have flogged my Hull house quicker (being in vacant possession), have been able to work full-time, have been able to explore Nottingham and surroundings properly, would have saved the stress of weekly 'commuting' to Hull and back, and most importantly would have been able to find a nice place in a nice area having acquired some local knowledge. Instead, I'm in a so-so house in a grotty area with a screaming Mum and kids next door and packs of Darrens prowling the streets, and all because I knew next to nothing about Nottingham before coming here - had I had 6 months breathing space to figure the place out then I'd certainly have ended up with something better. And that would have saved me money in the long run, because I'm going to have to move again before the year's out before this place drives me bananas.
