I wondered if I’d just ventured on the well-trodden path of everyone living in London, or was I just a greedy-guts who was never contented with what was presented. Regardless of the examining result, it has now become my strongest devotion to believe that if you are not committed to one of the three searches – the search for the perfect apartment, the search for the perfect job, and the search for the perfect Mr/s. Right or Mr/s. Right-now – then you are not exploiting the immense opportunities this city is offering.

After having hunted on the snowy properties wilderness for an entire bitterly cold winter, after battling my physical and mental endurance against the frequent bombardment of disappointing photo-decent-reality-disastrous apartments, I was eventually rewarded with a sparkling property jewel at an ideal location, excellent transport links and reasonable space with high ceiling – a property nirvana.

However, the search for the perfect apartment wasn’t an easy stroll along the journey. Firstly, it of course has to be tailored on my seemingly shrinking financial physique, or more accurately, the generosity of my flatmate to make up the missing rent not affordable by me, which unfortunately in the eyes of many estate agents, was impossibly derisory for our specifications.

Right, earning a shameful emolument that is only one-third of my flatmate, I must endure the guilt for exacerbating the already challenging flat-hunting spadework crucial to the construction of a shelter we both would like to call home. But believing (that our budget wasn’t an insane optimism but a sane possibility) was the key to success, although it was righteous to say that I had unwillingly pushed my budget to the brink of landing myself on a socially paralysed and financially handicapped future living.

Nevertheless, the satisfaction when I was welcomed by an impeccably cleaned apartment during check in was absolutely insurmountable. I knew, despite all the cumbersome requests to gather sufficient financial references, the numerous unsolicited phone calls that interrupted my work and the intrusive questioning into my background more stringent than applying for a visa from the Home Office, it was worth it.

However, as uncomfortable as securing the flat, the check in process was an equally eye-popping experience. A non-exaggerated hour was required to run through the three-page long inventory list that was so detailed and precise up to the point where a magnifying glass was literally deployed to spot a less than 1mm thick scratch mark at one foot from the bottom left corner on the chest drawer, which of course had been clearly defined on the list.

Undoubtedly, the carefulness of the landlord with regards to the inventory and maintenance of the property deserves esteemed compliment if not a ceremonious gold medal. But the surmounting pressure to maintain the flat in its upmost pristine condition is now inevitable if not overwhelmingly excessive, otherwise the risk of losing a handsome deposit is surely going to escalate wildly, which of course is not desirable.

But then again, believing is the key to success. With two perfectionists living in the same flat, I am confident that maintaining the flat would be a cakewalk. However, two-perfectionist living also entails complication of harmonious living. But that of course belongs to another entry.

In conclusion, from Canada Water to Oval, from Southeast to Southwest, from Southwark to Lambeth, from SE16 to SW9, I am now officially in my second lodging along my London adventure. Time to say: Welcome home baby!