The Alleged House Purchase

So, we've gone and done it. Ange claims that we have 'allegedly' bought a house. The conveyancing of a house from one party to another is very similar to the better-known criminal system of innocent until proven guilty.

All we have done is make an offer, confirm a mortgage, establish a solicitor, and hire a surveyor. All sorts of annecdotal evidence suggest that we will be the future owners of 32 Crowmell Street, Caversham. Nevertheless, we remain strangely detatched. By all accounts, it could go horribly wrong tomorrow when someone 3 houses down the chain pulls out because they've developed an allergy to berber carpets and had a change of heart on the agreed price of their deal. The chain collapses, everyone sighs in frustration (apart from various lawyers and surveyors who have collected fees) and we are back at square one. Still, we push on. Determined for the full British experience, it seems only suitable that we must endure this stress for us to fully appreciate the culture in which we live. I am sure this will lend to vaguely humorous remarks, knowing nods and rolled eyes at some party with strangers down the road.

Today my dad and brother Sam were in town. My dad was working (and had taken Sam along with him) in nearby Guildford and zipped across to see us. 'Zipped,' of course, a euphamism for crawling through an hour of traffic to cover 20 miles. We walked over to see 32 Cromwell. I slightly feared my dad seeing the place. I feared that he would see something so blatantly problematic that only a daft idiot who had blindly rushed into an offer would miss. Blindly rushing in would aptly describe our course of action, so it was really a odds-game as to whether I could be labelled an idiot for doing so.

As we walked up the slight hill from the bottom of our street, my dad commented that, "it certainly won't flood being up a hill." It hadn't occured to me, but the logic was irrefutable. One check for our alleged house: unlikely to flood.

Happily, dad was taken with the property. He was firmly against the ivy that grows over the side of the house. "It will have to come down immediately," he commented. Desptie quite liking the ivy, I noted to myself that my first job was to somehow get 20 years of ivy growth off the side of the house ASAP. And then my dad said something that was truly beautiful to hear. He summed up the house after walking front and back by saying, "It's good. I like it. A good solid house."

"Solid." Is there a better adjective to describe your biggest ever investment? I think not. Years from now, "lucrative" would be nice. But, in the meantime, I will settle happily on "solid."

We then had a wee moment where "solid" came into question.

"Isn't the chimney badly crooked?" Dad asked.
"Damn it. It is," my heart sank. I looked for an out. The chimney was clearly crooked. The lean was definitely a couple of degrees off. We were standing on a slope. Could that be our problem? Had we mistakenly miscalclulated our frame of reference because of the incline where we stood? Sadly not. And then? Relief. We were looking at our neighbour's chimney. Too bad for him. Unless, of course, it falls on our house. But there is surely insurance for that sort of thing.

We then discussed the ivy some more. Conversation followed about solid brick walls and their relative insulation properties. Slate roofs were discussed. Our substantial cinder-block guest house (yep, we have another guest house!) was admired for its solidness and the quality of its roof. We spotted a hole that had been drilled in the brickwork and the types of cement that ought to be used to fill it. As we trudged back to our current place, the house started to grow on dad. By the time we got back to our terrace (a mere 3 minutes away), he was entirely sold. Hooray!

Anna continues to be the most lovely little girl. I often call her "Anna Banana." I can't help myself. She's so cute. What was funny was the other day when I positioned her in front of the mirror whilst she sat in my arms.

"Who's that?" I asked
"Anna!" She cried.
"That's right!" I excaimed affirmatively.
"Anna Manana" she said again.

Yes. Anna Manana. So cute.