This wasn’t part of my life plan. Freshly divorced, the wrong side of 60 and without meaningful employment. That’s the good news.
But I have to question my own judgement having just committed all of my disposable wealth to the purchase of a Victorian semi in my village in Banburyshire, England.
The house, in a condition best described as ‘dubious’ or as estate agents would put it, ‘an exceptional opportunity’, has, let’s say, been mismatched with its previous two partners. As a double divorcee we are true soulmates.
Yet the desire to have a roof over my head and knowing this village is where my heart is, has brought this scruffy cottage (aka No. 16 High Street) and I together.
I hope to restore her back to beauty both inside and out.
My patience, stamina and sanity are guaranteed to be tested in the months and years ahead.
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.
