We posed as millionaires and viewed a £5 million penthouse for second year
They declined our offer
Everyone loves the abstract beauty of BT Tower and the grimy chic of the Chemistry department, but let’s be honest – Bloomsbury is a bit shit.
The standard second year ghettos of Camden, the Cally and Holloway aren’t much better, and not what anyone thought they were signing up for when we rocked up for three years of London life.
It was Wednesday afternoon, lectures were done with and Phineas was yet to open – and we wanted to start looking for our second year pad.
So we did what anyone else with a couple of spare hours, a weekly bus and tube Travelcard and a reasonably-sized pair of balls would do – pose as London’s latest millionaire start-up twats and view the finest eight rooms the capital has to offer.
We walked up from Old Street suited and booted like we were on our way to our Year 11 prom, and entered the marketing suite humming a medley of the Suits and Apprentice theme tunes and approached the estate agent.
Despite his best efforts, his polite front did little to conceal his inner contempt, which later manifested in the form of a not-so-discreet eye roll at Will’s Teesside accent.
He showed us architectural plans for the completed development as we marvelled at the power of human ingenuity. We maintained a polite silence as we whooshed up in the lift to the 18th floor like we’d all just bombed a couple of sick pingers.
At a mere £2260 per square foot, my maintenance loan would buy me just about enough space to put a bin down. Our 2260 square foot penthouse boasted three bedrooms, each with its own en-suite and balcony/winter garden, an open plan kitchen/living area, spacious roof terrace, games room and a spare living area and bathroom for good measure.
Looking around, it was clearly a decent gaff, and probably worth its eye-watering rent. Despite forcefully voicing our concerns that the view was limited to only 360°, the estate agent assured us that on a good day we’d have a great view of some prime London real estate – Ramsay Hall.
The fact that we weren’t allowed to put a trampoline or helipad on the roof terrace was crushing. Only having two kitchens was worse still. Who did they think we were? Students?
500 million pennies to share kitchens was not on.
The bed was comfortable and the bath was more than spacious enough for both of us at once, which, considering the current trajectory of our bromance, was ideal.
It was the dream, but we questioned whether our money could be better spent elsewhere.
We rang up a nice old man selling a grouse estate in the Highlands of Scotland, mulled over purchasing 3.8 million lattés in Gordon’s or 2.5 million mosquito nests to protect five million people from Malaria.
But really, we wanted a nice flat, and this one had potential. So we decided to make an offer.
We went in hard with our liquid assets and proposed a cash offer of £793.42 (our overdrafts combined).
It was declined, but we’re hoping to have better luck in the Shard.
Since we were already in suits, we decided to head to Phineas and pretend to be rugby lads. I’d never hated myself more.