It’s all
gone a bit Pete Tong here in N-o-T of late, hence my lengthy absence from the
blogosphere, for which I apologise. I’m not apologising for not updating my own
ramblings, but I have been unable to devote the time I would like to the much
more enjoyable pastime of reading others’ updates.
When last I
wrote, we were dipping our toes into the waters of house moves. Well, those toes are now fully submerged, and
I am hoping to be able to keep my airways clear as I sink inexorably under a
mountain of “particulars” and try to cling to the wreckage of my happily
married life.
I
exaggerate only slightly. TH and I have started conducting our conversations
through rigid jaws and clenched teeth. It’s what moving house does to people,
apparently.
It’s like
this: after putting our house on the market, and sitting back to wait, what
actually happened was….nothing. And then, suddenly, people started wanting to
have a look at it, just when I was beginning to think that our happy home had
all the kerb appeal of a cave set in a dungheap. And, when they came, they made
offers.
The first
potential buyer appeared to think we should pay him to buy our house, and throw
in some Nectar points and our children. I have a feeling he believes that Phil
Spencer is a wimp, and that making an offer on a house involves taking the
asking price, halving it and then taking off 10% for his trouble. We politely
declined his derisory offer, at which point he came back with his architect to
elaborate upon his redevelopment plan for our home, and then reiterated his
derisory offer as he was by this time convinced that we would wish to help him
finance his extension. We politely declined a second time, at which point he
advised our agent that he would see if our house was still available once he
had sold his property, and perhaps make an offer again. God loves a trier!
Fortunately,
another buyer came along, obviating the need for buyer no.1 to renew his offer
yet again. After some negotiations, we agreed a sale price. However, the only
slight issue was that they wanted to move in during August if possible. The
fact that they had actually viewed our house before buyer no.1, gone away and
spent about six weeks messing about, and now want to move in within six weeks
was a slight niggle.
Having abandoned
our own search pending being in a position to buy, we now find that there isn’t
a house within a five mile radius of where we’d like to be that actually suits
our needs or our budget. Hence the teeth-gritting and marriage breakdown
issues.
As the
weather finally (and, no doubt, briefly) improves here in N-o-T, I find myself
driving over hill and dale, sometimes with TH (in a silence which no-one would
ever describe as “companionable”) past properties I’ve previously identified
online, whilst TH hits the accelerator and mumbles “Nah” having seen the
potential property in a blur at 45 mph from his rear-view mirror. If I’m alone,
I take the time to stop, at least, before mumbling my own “Nah”. But that, of
course, is different.
And, when I’m
not getting lost somewhere in the hinterland of Guildford, I’m embarking on a
new venture.
I was fully
intending to purchase a pottery kiln before TH announced his desire to move
house. I then decided that it might be better to wait till after “the move”.
However, I was then offered the chance to purchase a secondhand kiln, only a
few months old, for a bargain price, so I HAD to go for it. Having made a
significant investment, I now need to amortise this by actually selling some of
my wares.
As a
result, this weekend, I will be dipping my already sodden toes into yet another
pool: this time, the pool of the Craft Fair. I’m doubly apprehensive. Not only
will this be a test of the commercial potential of my crafts, it will be a
waste of an entire Saturday that should, by rights, be devoted to house-hunting
and jaw-gritting, in the passenger seat of TH’s speeding car.
I am sorry
I’ve been so out of touch with the blogosphere. I promise I will try harder.
Aaaaaand
breathe!
Oh, and Pee Ess: We got all scrubbed up and posh two weeks ago and went up to London for our Garden Party with the neighbours. It was all very posh, and they even let us in through the front door, but I nearly died of hypothermia. Still, she does a nice round of sandwiches, and I couldn't fault the finger food, although after all these years I was expecting more than just a cup of tea. A small sherry for medicinal purposes would have gone down a treat.
