We put an offer on a house today. Well, more a bungalow than a house. A home.
The process of moving home is quite odd.
It seems to have taken us several hundred years:
to decide we want to move, to decide where, to go and look at the area, then the house.
Then to change our minds on the area.
To decide whether we were going to have kids and how many or none at all, so did it have to be near a school? And how near is a pub or shop so that’s it near enough to walk to, but not near enough to be noisy?
To decide whether we want rural isolation or buzzing bohemian towns.
To try to sell ours. To fail.
To try again 18 months later and be succesful.
To want character properties with views, but no road noise.
Not actually wanting a ‘project’ so going for off-the-peg, new home now, please. Apart from that really gorgeous one with the walled garden that needs tonnes of work and that’s next to the motorway.
And that character one with the views and the quiet… well, we just didn’t like it. The one up the road is absolutely, completely perfect in every way and we both love it.
But we can’t afford it.
We don’t have children or a job that’s relocating, so that’s maybe why we’ve taken our time. We finally decided on a town. A road even. We found it. (Maybe? should we just check a couple more?) Yes, all in all, all things being equal, after a hundred years of looking… We make our offer.
Thing is, what with there being a recession and prices likely to fall and the whole town being so overpriced anyway and us having x amount to spend… We make a genuine offer on what we can afford and what we think it’s worth. Whether the vendors, who are lovely people, take it, is… well, the next post on this blog, most likely.