It starts when your heart skips a beat, then you just know. The second I stepped across the threshold of No 16 High St, I looked across to the estate agent and said, ‘ok let’s talk money’. I really didn’t need to see anymore before making an offer.
It’s the ‘quaintness’ of the UK house buying process that permits anyone to indulge in such impulses. Agree a price and then contemplate at leisure as to whether or not to transact There’s no financial obligation until the ‘exchange of contracts’ where a deposit is required, often 2 or 3 months post offer.
And so I am, quite literally, getting to the business end of my purchase. And I acknowledge as un homme d’un certain âge and limited financial means, committing to a potential money pit isn’t the most prudent of moves.
So why have I decided to ignore the Yeah Buts, the Nay Sayers and the legitimate concerns of those dear to me?
If I’ve learned nothing about myself over the last 6 decades, now that my career is behind me, I still need a dream and a project. I want to learn knew stuff, delve into the history of the Victorians whilst staying off the couch for the better part of the day (siestas excluded).
Of course I could do all these things without taking such a big risk and yes I’ve had two major league wobbles, to the point of drafting my exit letter to the lawyers. Yet, I am drawn to the challenge, drawn to the privilege of being the next custodian of No16 and the satisfaction that I will have done right by this house.
Of course, I could drop dead tomorrow, or the four horseman of the apocalypse might appear (arguably they are already amongst us) or an incurable debilitating disease could strike.
So, with gratitude, I choose the inevitable disappointments, dust, dirt and damp coupled with generous helpings of exhaustion and self-doubt; I choose, to murder a cliché, to do it my way.
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