1cunt

Brick Lane, is a nouveau haven of young folk and curry. It's the home of horrendous hair and Jarvis Cocker fashion; trendy bars and even trendier prices; hustling Bengali's and second hand chicky chic....

It's April 2006.

Mrs Giovanni and I are living in a peculiar black and white maisonette close to Brick Lane. We've been living separately, then together in the area for too long.

Yes boss, the talentless fashionista who stroll the area like sallow plastic flowers are breaking my brain to such a degree, I'm ready to wear retro and set up a record shop (that will also sell coffee and organic fabric shopping bags....)

I'm thinking that advertising is an art

I'm taking photos of every last fucking piece of graffitti and assembling them on the wall of my former council flat in a slightly random fashion and thinking that I'm clever for thinking of the idea..

And worse than any of this, I’m becoming involved in the British film making business..

Yes boss, tired of the written failure of my nuclear book, haemoraghing friends by the day and binging on televised sport, I've realised I need to get out more and find a money ridden way to use my talents.

Having noticed excessive ammounts of filming going on in the new east fashion era, I figure It's time to start asking questions and get involved...

As I'm setting about doing this, we get notice to quit...

Our Landlord, Mr Tree's wants to sell all 12 of his properties and to move into ’Old People’.

Yes boss, the clever old bastard has noticed the bottom will soon fall from the hugely inflated London housing market, and when it does, his hugely improved wad stands to be downsized...

Mr Tree's doesn't want to see his wad being heavily downsized, so he decides to sell up...

For the Giovanni’s, April 2006 is both a good and a bad time to be moving..

It's good because I, Paul Pious James Deman Giovanni £rd, owe a range of High Street Banks £50,000 spread over 7 credit cards, 3 overdrafts and 2 personal loans.

Due to reasons of contempt and unwillingness, I've not paid a silky penny for more than 6 months, ’knocks on the door’ can only be imminent...

How did I get the debt?!? I'll get onto that later...

Because, now, I have to concentrate. I have to develop a plan to move on up with no money and huge debts.

I figure the best place to start is by watching the Ghent Wevelgem bike race

As the riders clatter through Belgium, I muse on my options:

1) Live in a Campervan on the street

2) Live in a Garage

3) Get dumped by Mrs Giovanni for being inept. Go on long soul searching trip to the mountains. Learn how to catch rabbits. Fall in love with and marry a beautiful mountain girl with a huge smile and wonderful naivety. Become a Carpenter and raise pigs. Build A House. Live Happily Ever After...

4) Get Rich Quick

5) Find a New Flat

After a little thought, my fantasy head decides on the latter.

A good move with no forwarding address could send the Bailliffs into the buffers for enough months to nail me a hugely lucrative publishing deal or a highly paid role in a film....

I figure I can then use a few notes from my weighty advance to poke up the cokey noses of said baillifs, before absconding to Italo Ranch Giovanna, leaving a trailing smokey V sign in my wake...

It's a fine idea, but as always, life is not quite that easy.

No boss, in an age when you need to fill out a fucking thorough and complete written money exam to have a chance of getting a good place to live, having acredit rating that's shot to shit and no full time paid employment, or desire to take a serious job, makes things hard.

And a good house is just what Mrs G is demanding.

I mean I'd (and have) happily lived in a fucking garage, but Mrs G wants a nice place. She wants a flat with a window in the bathroom and a gas hob. She wants a clean place as central as possible. She wants to be able to invite her legion of sisters over for visits.

It's a tough proporsition. I figure the only way to get the stinking job done, is to completely immerse myself in the world of East London Estate Agency.

Yes boss, I decide to become a professional house hunter....

I spend the best part of 3 months browsing thosands upon thousands of classifieds and estate agents windows. I view more than 30 houses, flats and rooms. I learn all the tricks and cover angles. I work out which agents are bribeable and amicable to bend the rules, should the truth of my professional and financial situation become known.

I AM MR EAST LONDON PROPERTY!!!!

I KNOW MY SHIT!!!

I WILL OVERCOME!!!!

After a month, we find a place that compromises on a coupla things, but has 2 bedrooms and a gas hob. It’s central enough, good for transport and bang on budget. It even has a can of stella in the fridge and a bag of garden compost in the front room.

THESE ARE SIGNS!!!

IT'S OURS!!!

WE SIGN UP!!!

I'M A WINNER!!!!

4 days before we’re due to move the landlady decides she’s gonna rent OUR FLAT to her little Johnnys student friend and we’re left in the traffic..

PANIC!!!!

I AM NOT MR EAST LONDON PROPERTY!!!

SOMETHING HAS TO BE DONE!!!!

I immediately repair to the Off Licence and buy 24 cans of beer in order to facilitate a solution. I drink 11, watch football, shout and scream and wake the next morning, to hear Mrs Giovanni pouring the remaining 13 cans down the sink..

I HATE HER!!!!

But what to do??? Our extension of extensions ends in 3 days. Then we will have nowhere to live???

A days round of double quick estate agent action leaves us 4 places to view.

The first 3 aren’t inspiring. We have a puncture on the bike and it’s raining.

Our last hope looks ridiculous:

It's a rather spacious, new looking place in the back of beyond. It’s bound to be a pure fucking lie of an image and it's miles off course, but all other options are exhausted.

We agree to take a look...

We park up the bikes at the Estate Agents office and Grant takes us there in his motor..

"I reckon it’s an up and coming area" He tells us in that lying bastard way that estate agents talk when they want your business "and Jude Law’s filming here..."

The flat is £20 a week over budget and the building isn’t even finished...

It has 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms. It has a huge ammount of space, an electric cooker and no window in either bathroom. It's a fucking yuppie flat built in the middle of an old industrial estate for a reason I can not fathom. It has a large balcony and a nearby canal for the disposal of all victims. It's a young new media professionals ghetto.

And Jude Law is filming..