A property-hunting diary entry on the increasingly creative language London estate agents deploy to describe spaces that defy basic geometry

I have now viewed, by my own rough count, forty-one London flats over the past four months, and I have arrived at a place of something approaching zen acceptance regarding the specific linguistic gymnastics of estate agent listings. “Bijou” means small enough that opening the wardrobe door requires temporarily standing in the hallway. “Characterful” means the boiler makes a sound like a small animal in distress. “Bonus third bedroom” means, and I cannot stress this enough, a cupboard.

The Cupboard, Specifically

I want to describe this cupboard in detail because I think about it often, the way you think about a genuinely formative experience. It was, by generous estimate, one metre by one and a half metres. It had a single small window, which I will grant the listing did not lie about. It was described, in full, unblinking confidence, as a “bonus third bedroom, perfect for a home office or guest space.” I stood inside it. I could touch both walls without fully extending my arms. I have wardrobes with more square footage.

Other Phrases I Have Learned to Decode

“Compact and bijou” means you will need to eat your meals standing in the kitchen because there is no room for a table. “Excellent transport links” means there is a bus that comes every forty minutes if it comes at all. “A stone’s throw from the high street” has, on three separate occasions, actually meant a twenty-two minute walk, which represents either an extremely committed athlete’s definition of a stone’s throw or a fairly liberal relationship with the truth.

The Photography Deserves Its Own Category of Suspicion

I have become genuinely skilled at reading estate agent photography for warning signs. A wide-angle lens that makes a room look like a ballroom, only to arrive and discover the actual dimensions could comfortably fit a single bed and a small amount of profound regret. Photos taken exclusively from one specific corner of every room, which I now understand to mean that every other angle reveals something the listing would rather you didn’t see, usually a damp patch or a boiler cupboard disguised as storage.

The Flat I Actually Viewed Yesterday

Yesterday’s listing promised a “spacious open-plan living area.” I arrived to find a kitchen and living room combined into a space where, standing at the cooker, I could simultaneously reach the sofa without moving my feet. The estate agent, to her credit, seemed to know exactly what she was showing me and made no real effort to defend the word “spacious,” instead pivoting quickly to the flat’s “incredible natural light,” which was, I’ll grant her, genuinely true, on account of there being very little wall space left to block it.

What I Have Learned to Actually Trust

At this point, four months and forty-one viewings deep, I trust almost nothing in a listing except the postcode and the asking price, and even the asking price I now assume is a gentle opening suggestion rather than a firm figure. Everything else, the square footage, the “bonus” rooms, the transport links, the natural light, gets treated as a hypothesis to be tested in person, ideally with a tape measure I have started bringing along specifically for this purpose.

Where the Search Stands

I have not yet found my flat. I have found, instead, an encyclopaedic knowledge of estate agent euphemism that I did not ask for and cannot now un-learn. If you are currently flat hunting in London and reading a listing that describes something as “cosy,” I would simply ask you to consider, deeply and honestly, what that word might actually be protecting you from finding out in person. Further London property diary entries continue at bohiney.com, with additional property coverage available at prat.uk.

SOURCE: https://prat.UK/