A-hunting we will go…

So, it’s a bit of a late post this week. Usually I write my posts on a Saturday or Sunday morning at The Boy’s, but we were househunting yesterday, I was at my own house last night, and I’ve only just arrived at his. The reason for my not writing it before? Some would say that it’s because The Boy is my muse, and I cannot work without him. Other, less generous souls, would suggest that it’s because I was too ‘busy’ putting my belongings on eBay and topping up my hair dye (in case you’re interested, it went red. Again. It was supposed to be light brown. I wouldn’t mind if I was actually a redhead underneath the layers of chemicals, but I’m not) to switch my laptop on. As The Boy has created a fort for us to write in, and has provided nourishment in the form of water and cake-based snacks, I’m going to suggest the former.

Also, I would like to add a quick update to last week’s post – I can confirm that Lovely Sister looks nothing like a tangerine, or like she’s been creosoted. She likes the girls from TOWIE, but her tan looks much more natural, because she ‘knows how to apply fake tan now.’

So, to househunting. Is that two words? Or should it be one? I should know this…let’s say one. And if it’s meant to be two, I shall say that I’m being all post-modernistic and brave and such. I’ve lived with a boy before (he doesn’t get capitalised, I’m afraid), and it did not end well. I used to invite my friends over, they occasionally spilt red wine on the cream carpet/sofa/walls (I kid you not) and he…well, let’s just say he had his faults too. (Like making me go on a no-carb diet one January, so I drove my friends to distraction by talking about soup and bread at every available opportunity. Or letting me ‘have’ the spare room as my room, so that none of my stuff was in ‘our’ room – if anything made it there by mistake, it had to be removed immediately. I’m not bitter, it’s just that I only realised that the other day. Nothing like looking back with rose-tinted glasses…)

But that was only renting when we were students, so when the inevitable happened and we broke up (and I decided to move 130 miles away for a bit, after chucking a hairbrush at his head), we just handed our notice in and that was that (the academic year was nearly up anyway, so it just gave us a bit more time to get the professional cleaners in to remove the red wine stains from the cream carpet/sofa/walls). The Boy and I are planning on buying our first home together. We looked around one house in August, which we loved but decided not to get, because I really wanted a new job (nothing was wrong with my old job, it just wasn’t really what I wanted to do with my life for the next 4o years). It turned out quite nicely, because two weeks later, I got my current job (and everyone who knows me did the happy dance, as they wouldn’t have to listen to me complaining about my job not being what I wanted to do for the next 40 years), and we could start deciding whether to stay in the area that we currently live, or whether to look closer to work.  We’ve decided to stay around here, as it’s where all of our friends are, and, you know, we’d miss them if we moved.

The house we looked around yesterday was a lovely two-bedroomed house, with a pond in the back garden. Several well-meaning friends and acquaintances are fond of pointing out that we should get as big a house as we can afford, ‘just in case’. I believe that the ‘just in case’ they’re referring to is ‘just in case you forget all about those sex education lessons at school and end up pregnant without a clue how it happened’. These same friends and acquaintances are also fond of telling us to make sure we ‘can afford the house on one wage, just in case’ and to make sure that the garden has no open water – how on Earth they expect us to buy a seven-bedroom, child-proofed mansion on one wage is beyond me. Unless The Boy has a secret plan to take over the world that they know about and I don’t. And, to be honest, he’s a bit too nice to have world-domination in his sights.

I do feel bad about getting so annoyed, as they’re only trying to help, but I always thought it was elderly aunts (of which I have none) at weddings who were supposed to make the pointed comments about marriage and children…

So, back to the house that we looked around yesterday (one of my lovely friends, who lives on the same street as this house, has just text me, in the same way you would  text a friend if you saw her boyfriend you saw snogging someone else, to tell me that lots of people viewed it yesterday, God love her) was just the right size for us (for now), is in cycling distance of the train station (which is a shame) and is just a bit perfect. I don’t want to say any more about it, just in case someone manages to work out where it is and goes to have a look for themselves.

We’ve decided to see a mortgage advisor (yes, we should have done things the other way around, but what with my new job and everything, we weren’t actually looking for a house just yet, but this one is a bit of a bargain). He wants to see our bank statements. I’m absolutely terrified at the prospect, and have already had several conversations in my head that go along the lines of ‘but who exactly IS Dorothy Perkins, and why are you giving her so much money?’ – we picked a silly time to look at mortgages anyway, no-one’s bank statement looks good after Christmas (please tell me that’s true, and it’s not just me?), and I’m already having sleepless nights. Well, one sleepless night – last night. I’m reliably informed that this is par for the course, and if we do manage to get the house, I can look forward to many more of these.

Oh, and obviously, it’s great practice for all those kids that we’re going to have right away.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. cheree
    Jan 15, 2012 @ 20:51:01

    Brilliant…. LOLing all the way through! Fingers crossed for you both, you deserve it and I hope no suicidal children ever end up near that house with a pond xx


  2. Daniella Chrystal
    Jan 16, 2012 @ 00:05:24

    Going to point out the one income comment is very very smart. But not get the biggest house you can. Always make sure you only get as much house as you can afford, if say the worst happens and one of you gets laid off and then can’t find work for a year. As your life gets more stable you can always use the equity you’ve built up and move to a bigger house better neighborhood etc we’re stll young yet lots of time to get that seven bedroom house


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