On Monday, I moved into my little cupboard under the stairs. By cupboard under the stairs, it’s actually a room upstairs, but it’s tiny like a shoebox. Thus, it is my little cupboard under the stairs, a la Harry Potter.
It’s small, with a single bed, a wardrobe. A window looking out onto my Canning Town street. Twin, triplet, quadruplet houses, all stacked next to each other in a terrace. Identical rubbish bins lining the street. The reason why I moved to Canning Town is a) most importantly, the price. For £370 a month, it’s a steal, b) I was quite desperate to find a place, and c) my father and my grandfather’s middle names are Canning. I suppose I felt like it was meant to be.
Canning Town is East London, on the Jubilee Line past Canary Wharf and just stops away from Stratford. I believe Canning Town and other East London areas are undergoing, or will be undergoing, a regeneration in years to come. My workmate said to me, “Canning Town is up and coming. It’s cheap as chips now, but in a few years it’ll be the place to be and the rent will be ridiculous.”
It’s good to know – at the moment, it’s a little dreary. It’s home to many immigrants, and has a large African community. Many of the shops are owned by African and Middle Eastern people. I don’t feel unsafe, but I always keep an eye over my shoulder when walking home in the dark. I’m new here, anyhow. I think I’m like that whichever suburb I’m in!
I’m keeping busy. Most nights I have something to do, see or someone to meet up with. But tonight, I’m going to go home to Canning Town. I’m going to buy my groceries, fill my cupboards and space in the fridge, make a meal from scratch and watch a movie in my cosy little bed.