I've been a bit quiet about The Blackberries, our hopefully beautiful and lovely house-to-be, as there simply hasn't been any progress. After finally selling that enormous elephant on our backs known as Angus' former marital home in Brighton (the town to which I called Ovaltine but which is actually called Ovingdean) in December, we agreed a price on The Blackberries and have just been waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

In England, if you agree to sell your home you're not duty bound until you send over the deposit, which is typically 5% of the selling price in cash. Once you do that, it's no return unless you don't mind giving up that 5% as well as a good chunk of money you'll have to pay in liquidated damages. Not really tempting, seeing as how we are investing over £500,000.

Just saying that makes me want to vomit. £500,000. £500,000. Oh my God, I can't believe how much money that is. I tried to think of what you can get for £500,000 and all I came up with is: A house. This is the cost of the house plus an extension we are planning on building. We haven't even moved in to a space three times the one we have now and we're already planning on expanding and updating it.

The house buying has been held up by the nice woman living in it needing to find a house of her own. We've met her a few times-she's direct, forthcoming. She tells you where things stand and doesn't mind uncorking the bottle at noon. She's widowed as her partner died not long ago and has no children of her own, but instead is an animal lover, she lost two of her dogs and one of her cats this past year. She's relatively alone.

(I worry that's my future, too. But when she calls to discuss house issues, she can never discuss things with me, she always asks for Angus as I think she is only comfortable talking to the man of the house, which is perhaps where our futures divide.)

She did find a house, but her purchase of it has taken forever. The biggest issue was the seller of that house is an international banker, a job which I have come to learn is synonymous for "supercilious tosspot ass monkey". Mr. International Banker is very busy and important, often travelling to the continent for business, and was thus apparently too busy to sign the house contract, even going skiing instead of taking care of business (to which I wanted to fly to the Alps brandishing a pair of skis like a set of numchucks, screaming: Where are you, Tosspot? Do you know how many dreams you are affecting right now? Do you? Come here, ass chump, and I'll show you what happens when you piss off a woman fighting a Lush addiction!)

But yesterday, in the middle of the day and with us tooling around in our houseclothes (aka "pajamas"), Angus got a phone call. Mr. Tosspot banker has indeed signed his documents, and he and the woman we are buying the house from have exchanged contracts. Our solicitor was called and told that their deal was done and we can proceed with ours. So with the click of a button, he released the cash that we saved last year as in one fell swoop it was agreed-the house was ours.

It's ours.

We move in March 24.

The champagne is being uncorked at our house tonight.

Without further ado, I present the house that we will now be living in for many years (pictures also on Flickr)....

This is the back of the house....

This is the living room, with the beautiful original windows and fireplace.

And this is the garden, where a dog of our own will lie in the grass, joined from time to time by my girls, Maggie and Mumin and by Angus and myself.

I'm going to spend a lot of time dreaming and hoping in that garden.

The keys to the house of our dreams are finally within sight.

-H.

PS-I've got a pretty interesting blogad running on the sidebar. Feel free to give it a click! (*cough*pimping*cough).

PPS-Jim, you are a darling for sending this book. Thank you so much.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 06:36 AM | Comments (36) | Add Comment
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