Housey-housey (v)

I’ve been writing about the places I’ve lived, not rented  or shared rooms, flats and houses, but the places I have bought – when I say that I mean with a mortgage of course! I started in a flat I bought with a friend, and then moved to a semi-detached house on the other side of the city. From there I moved to the next village and bought a bungalow with the expectation of my disabled sister being able to stay. Various things happened and we were able to move close to where she lived, moving into my dad’s bungalow. He had died six years previously and we had kept his home and would visit every fortnight to have my sister to stay with us. This lovely bungalow, sandwiched between the pub and the village rhyne was perfect in every way except it was too small, we needed three bedrooms and it only had two. We weren’t in a position to be able to extend or have building work done, so when we moved there we knew it was only temporary.

My dad had lived in the village for ten years so I knew it well, and having visited with my own family for ten years after that we all were well-acquainted. We’d walk around it and often think how nice it would be to live here, how convenient in every way, and how pleasant, beneath the hill, near the sea, and near the countryside. It wasn’t far from the town nor far from the motorway so easy access to the rest of the country. We used to spot houses that were for sale and pretend we might buy them, looking up their details. There was one only a few hundred yards from dad’s bungalow which was on the market for quite a while. It looked so perfect, near the school and shop, near the pub, a five minute walk from the sea… but beyond us.

As I mentioned yesterday, we moved south and moved into my dad’s bungalow when I got a job at the college. We moved in, knowing we would have to move out before very long, and began the search for a suitable property, doubting that we would find somewhere in the village. The ‘perfect’ property was still for sale so I checked the price, and for some reason – and we never fathomed what it was, the asking price hadn’t changed! We still had our old house as we’d been able to move into dad’s place, and out of the blue the estate agent’s who had it, rang me to tell me someone wanted to buy it! We immediately asked if we could look round the perfect hose we had seen – would we be able to get it after all?

We went to visit the perfect place, owned by an elderly couple Ron and Mavis. They were delightful people and welcomed us in, pleased that we were a family as they had brought up their own sons here. They showed us round and it seemed as it had from the outside – perfect! To be sure the entrance hall was tiny, not what I wanted, but everything else was just right so I didn’t mind. We went home, got in touch with our solicitor again and put in an offer. There was a small amount of negotiating and on the day our offer was accepted, someone else put in an offer for my dad’s bungalow! Good fortune was smiling on us.

As the moving date approached, Ron and Mavis kept in touch. They would ring up and say they were moving to a smaller property and didn’t need a dish washer as there was one built in so would we like theirs as otherwise it would go to the dump? Well, how kind! And would we like their sun room furniture as they were moving to a flat without a sun-room, and there were many other kindly offers from them. The sun was shining on a day in May and four and a bit months after we had moved into my dad’s bungalow, we moved out and into our perfect house.

This may not be the end of our moving; at some point this place will be too big for us, so it may be that we pack up everything and move again! Who knows!



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