Sunday, 11 August 2013

Changing address. It's a moving story...


After some seven months of having the house on the market and achieving one buyer, and one collapsed conveyancing chain, there is still no SOLD sign on our property.  Sigh.  Mind you, trying to find a property that Mr V and I agree on is not exactly plain sailing, so if a buyer with a completed chain were to make an offer we’d be in a bit of a pickle, as currently we have nowhere to go.
          Originally I was very keen to move to Penshurst.  However, daughter Eleanor was adamant about enrolling at a college in Wilmington, which means a move to this pretty part of the world would involve zooming up and down the A21 four times a day.
          I’ve since found a Grade II conversion in Wrotham, a little oasis of quaint paradise and not a million miles away.  Delighted, I shooed Mr V away from the sports channel and ushered him around the show home.
          ‘What do you think?’ I asked hopefully.
          ‘Hmm,’ he replied.
          I found I was holding my breath as we walked on golden wood flooring around the state of the art kitchen.  Please like it, I silently willed my husband.
          ‘So, what do you think?’ I ventured again, as my husband stared out of an upstairs window at the view below.
          ‘It’s promising.’
          This is tantamount to an amber traffic light.  Not a no, but equally not a yes.  I know that I have to play this very cool in order to get my husband to take that amber light to green.  Any hint of pressure and he’ll go swiftly into reverse.  Why can’t he be like me?  Make a decision...go for it!  Instead there’s all this prevaricating.  Thinking about it.  Thinking about it again.  Holding the idea up like a picture and studying it intently.
          ‘Let’s go for a walk around the village,’ Mr V suggested, ‘and get a feel of what living here could be like.’
          Oh my God!  The amber light was flickering.  Not quite a green, but definitely an amber light on the verge of change.  I casually tucked a strand of hair behind one ear.
          ‘If you like,’ I said nonchalantly.
          We set out through the gated entrance.  I had a terrible impulse to skip off down the road, past the ancient church and into the High Street shouting whoopee.  However, I restrained myself and walked indifferently along the pavement.  As we rounded a corner and were greeted by a narrow road lined with twee clapboard buildings dating back to seventeen-something-or-other, I lost control.
          ‘Oh, isn’t it pretty,’ I gushed and instantly began enthusing about the tiny hair salon, an ancient pub serving decent grub, a teeny flint stone Post Office and a small grocer’s shop – perfect for nipping out to for a pint of milk if you didn’t need to do a big shop at the supermarket five miles away.
          ‘It’s okay,’ Mr V acknowledged as we turned and walked back to the car.  ‘But I’m not yet convinced it’s for us.’
          And as is always the case, I felt my hope wobble.  Still, you never know.  The amber light didn’t entirely swing back to red.  He said not yet.  So fingers crossed.
          Which reminds me.  A woman complained to a colleague that her back was really sore after moving furniture to a new house.  ‘Why didn’t you get your husband to help?’ the colleague asked.  ‘Yes, I should have,’ the woman acknowledged, ‘but the couch is easier to move if he’s not sitting on it watching the football.’

2 comments:

  1. This all sounds very familiar. Is Mr V a Libran by any chance? You made me chortle as usual Debbie. xx

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  2. A Scorpio Joanne. On the plus side, determined. On the negative, controlling!

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