This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2013/apr/24/living-bedsit-good-enough-for-me

The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
Living in a bedsit is good enough for me Living in a bedsit is good enough for me
(5 months later)
Our houses are shrinking, and it's making us ill and unhappy, a recent report says. It's space-saving – that's what all the world's ingenuities are boiling down to, and it's only logical to build homes to fit, right? But new homes as cosy as 46 square metres in size are reportedly causing marriages to break up, which isn't surprising. I have three mirrors in my bedroom and we all argue constantly. So is space the key to a happy, well-adjusted life? Is it the marker to having made it? Or is it more about what you do with your coverage area?Our houses are shrinking, and it's making us ill and unhappy, a recent report says. It's space-saving – that's what all the world's ingenuities are boiling down to, and it's only logical to build homes to fit, right? But new homes as cosy as 46 square metres in size are reportedly causing marriages to break up, which isn't surprising. I have three mirrors in my bedroom and we all argue constantly. So is space the key to a happy, well-adjusted life? Is it the marker to having made it? Or is it more about what you do with your coverage area?
Now in my mid-20s, I know people who own or rent their own houses and flats, people who still live with their parents and people who have moved out to house shares, but I have to say the lowest regarded of all the living situations, when they learn how I live, seems to be the good old-fashioned bedsit. In a recent episode of the BBC Radio 4 comedy Alun Cochrane's Fun House, Cochrane joked of how he sleeps better in the living room. "People who live in bedsits must get loads of sleep," he said. "Maybe that's why they can't afford anywhere bigger: because they're always late for work." The bedsit is a byword for an unfortunate cul-de-sac.Now in my mid-20s, I know people who own or rent their own houses and flats, people who still live with their parents and people who have moved out to house shares, but I have to say the lowest regarded of all the living situations, when they learn how I live, seems to be the good old-fashioned bedsit. In a recent episode of the BBC Radio 4 comedy Alun Cochrane's Fun House, Cochrane joked of how he sleeps better in the living room. "People who live in bedsits must get loads of sleep," he said. "Maybe that's why they can't afford anywhere bigger: because they're always late for work." The bedsit is a byword for an unfortunate cul-de-sac.
Of course, having your own place to call home seems to be as good a goal as any to aim for in life, your own slab of earth to do what you want with, no matter the mortgage or the heavy rental shackles – that's not important. These people are going somewhere; they're settled. And the ones still with their parents, why, they're saving of course, or on a treadmill in the right direction. The ones in shared accommodation – they're young, they're having fun; that's what people with life still in them do. But the bedsitter's apparently trapped somewhere between accidental socialite and desperately aspiring hermit.Of course, having your own place to call home seems to be as good a goal as any to aim for in life, your own slab of earth to do what you want with, no matter the mortgage or the heavy rental shackles – that's not important. These people are going somewhere; they're settled. And the ones still with their parents, why, they're saving of course, or on a treadmill in the right direction. The ones in shared accommodation – they're young, they're having fun; that's what people with life still in them do. But the bedsitter's apparently trapped somewhere between accidental socialite and desperately aspiring hermit.
I recently issued myself with an eviction notice for the end of April to get out of my little hovel – a threat already pushed forward from Christmas. Seeing the house sharers hanging out, the homeowners luxuriously swanning about their (dwindling) living rooms, the elderly kids dawdling home after post-work drinks – or perhaps the job centre – I went looking, unfortunately already fixed in my inherently skint ways, straight to Gumtree and SpareRoom. And the result? Well, I'm obviously still here. It takes a lot of effort searching for something better, sometimes, before you realise the bliss and simplicity of accepting whatever it is already under your feet.I recently issued myself with an eviction notice for the end of April to get out of my little hovel – a threat already pushed forward from Christmas. Seeing the house sharers hanging out, the homeowners luxuriously swanning about their (dwindling) living rooms, the elderly kids dawdling home after post-work drinks – or perhaps the job centre – I went looking, unfortunately already fixed in my inherently skint ways, straight to Gumtree and SpareRoom. And the result? Well, I'm obviously still here. It takes a lot of effort searching for something better, sometimes, before you realise the bliss and simplicity of accepting whatever it is already under your feet.
My "place", in south London, hasn't the prettiest interior design – in fact, it's quite brown. Brown carpet, brown wardrobes, brown sofa … and pink curtains. It's a thing of beauty, under the right circumstances. Those being low lighting and beer. The road outside my scaffold-clad window is noisy until about 3am, when for one hour, oh, it's lovely. The bathroom is shared with, at the moment, one other, who I might see twice a year. Not because he's hardly in, and definitely not because I'm always out, but because I have stealth issue ears and reaction times of a hyperactive Venus flytrap. The landlord lives downstairs, and once or twice he's walked into my room, having forgotten I'm even up here, working quite silently most days, preoccupied by my chosen spectator sport of pigeon confusion, which regularly starts up, backwards and forwards, across the wooden planks outside.My "place", in south London, hasn't the prettiest interior design – in fact, it's quite brown. Brown carpet, brown wardrobes, brown sofa … and pink curtains. It's a thing of beauty, under the right circumstances. Those being low lighting and beer. The road outside my scaffold-clad window is noisy until about 3am, when for one hour, oh, it's lovely. The bathroom is shared with, at the moment, one other, who I might see twice a year. Not because he's hardly in, and definitely not because I'm always out, but because I have stealth issue ears and reaction times of a hyperactive Venus flytrap. The landlord lives downstairs, and once or twice he's walked into my room, having forgotten I'm even up here, working quite silently most days, preoccupied by my chosen spectator sport of pigeon confusion, which regularly starts up, backwards and forwards, across the wooden planks outside.
The new trend, of course, is for bedsits to be rebranded as studio flats, but there are still these genuine 60s sinkholes dotted about, idly refusing to update, reminding us of a time when to move into this box of self-sufficiency was a truly liberating opportunity, especially for women. And although Katharine Whitehorn's Cooking in a Bedsitter is still prized by many, the context has changed somehow. The hob might be closer to the sink.The new trend, of course, is for bedsits to be rebranded as studio flats, but there are still these genuine 60s sinkholes dotted about, idly refusing to update, reminding us of a time when to move into this box of self-sufficiency was a truly liberating opportunity, especially for women. And although Katharine Whitehorn's Cooking in a Bedsitter is still prized by many, the context has changed somehow. The hob might be closer to the sink.
I admit, when I first moved in, I naively wondered why my neighbour would still be living in a place like this at his age, and then when I went to find somewhere better, I wondered why not? I can't entertain friends, but that's a convenient excuse for … a certain type of person. And I have to be careful about the time of day I open the curtains, lest I find a builder staring back at me. It's not grandiose, it's not my own, it's a bubble of the past being held up by metal poles and squirrels, but it's a place to hang my hat. And the way things are going, we've all got to be thankful – if the hat even fits – to have that.I admit, when I first moved in, I naively wondered why my neighbour would still be living in a place like this at his age, and then when I went to find somewhere better, I wondered why not? I can't entertain friends, but that's a convenient excuse for … a certain type of person. And I have to be careful about the time of day I open the curtains, lest I find a builder staring back at me. It's not grandiose, it's not my own, it's a bubble of the past being held up by metal poles and squirrels, but it's a place to hang my hat. And the way things are going, we've all got to be thankful – if the hat even fits – to have that.
Our editors' picks for the day's top news and commentary delivered to your inbox each morning.