The dilapidated house we were interested in purchasing went “Sale Agreed”. We both agreed that it was probably for the best. A lucky miss. Who knows what would have lain beneath. We didn’t need the stress. We were really only interested in moving for that house, so we decided that, for the moment at least we were staying put and we reveled in the fact that we no longer had to accommodate viewings. We had not even told our children that the house had been quietly on the market. Viewings had been arranged during school times and as we had previously had a photoshoot done in the house, this explained the tidy–ups. We were truthfully relieved not to have to tell them we were even considering moving.
Until three months later that is. I am at work one day when I get a phone call to say that the first people who viewed our house want to see it again. My husbands reaction was to say “why not let them see it, then we can see what there is on the market”. My reaction was to SCREAM “you’re not the one who will clean and re-de-clutter” and anyway the ONLY reason I wanted to sell my beautiful house was to the get the wreak. Not just any wreck THE wreck. So I explained to him that unless he could tell me that the pigeon house was back on the market then I was not going to pretend to those people that my house was for sale, even if it meant that I would end up with my house looking like a show house again for a day.
End of story or so I thought. Bear in mind I had been walking or driving by the house en route to everywhere for months (even places in the opposite direction) on the off chance that the “sale agreed” sign may magically have been replaced by a “for sale” one. The agent for the wreck had previously told us that the sale had fallen through several times prior to our viewing it. The banks were unwilling to lend on a property that was currently uninhabitable. So we rang the wrecks agent on the Monday morning who said “how did you know, the sale fell through last Friday”. Until that moment, I didn’t think I was really into “karma” or “fate”, but of course I decided there and then that it was meant to be.
Action stations. Frantic cleaning, grass cutting, weeding, flower buying, arranging, rearranging, again. But this time with a renewed zealousness as this time I had decided “this is it, it’s actually going to happen this time”.
And so it did, our viewers came. The sun shone. They loved the house. They put in an offer and so did we. They were not selling and so were not caught in a chain of purchasing. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing we accepted their offer and the pigeon house owner accepted ours. Booking deposits were paid and I began to truly believe that this might actually happen! Now we just had to break the news to our children that we were yet again uprooting them and moving on…
To be continued.