Home sweet home

We are on the taxi rank hoping to earn some money before the world is blustered out of its tranquillity by the terrible storm that everybody assures us is coming our way.

It has not turned up yet, although there are the beginnings of a few hopeful splashes of rain as I write, and I even got the washing dry today. This was an absolute bonus because I had taken a Terrible Risk. We pegged the washing in the back yard and then we buzzed off to Manchester for the day, so if it had rained, not only would I have been helplessly unable to dash about bringing it all into the conservatory in a hurry, I would not even have known, and it would have been soaked.

How considerate the Weather Gods have been today. I can almost forgive them for last week’s antics.

Mark pegged it out, actually, because we were rushing this morning. He pegged it out wrongly, obviously, but I thought I had better ignore this, for the sake of family harmony and also because I was too busy making toast to do it myself, but it was a valiant effort.

In fact the morning was a co-ordinated family activity of tea-making and dog-emptying and washing-pegging and cheese-on-toast making. This was because today was our family outing to Manchester, where Lucy is going to purchase a house and then throw herself into the Fight Against Crime. We had four appointments to look at houses, and we did not wish to be late.

We packed an oversized picnic, most of which we ate in the end, especially the chocolate, and the children ridiculed my addition of cloths and towels in case of spilled-tea accidents, and piled into the car. We allowed lots of time in case the motorway was excessively cluttered with other drivers and people digging holes in it, but it turned out that it wasn’t, and in fact we were early.

We were so early that we thought that instead of just going to the first appointment and waiting there, we would rush over and have an excited first look at the house that we all really liked, being the fire-damaged tragedy, which as it happened was very conveniently not far from the motorway.

When we got there we liked it even more, and we called the estate agent to see if we could look at it straight away. They agreed, with a sigh, and a little while later two ladies turned up in a car and let us in.

It was perfect, especially if you like the idea of living in a bombed-out ruin with cracked windows, but the roof was intact, and you can replace windows. Smoke and soot can be scrubbed away, and there was nothing wrong with its  decorative theme that could not be fixed with a large skip in the front garden

The thing was, it had clearly been loved once.

There was a garden, no longer thoughtfully tended, but still sprouting peonies and roses. There was an outside tap and an outdoor plug socket and the mountings from which hanging baskets had once swung. There was a front lawn, now more of a small meadow, and enough parking space for two cars.Inside there was a bathroom and two good-sized bedrooms and a kitchen and a pantry and a space which had once housed the downstairs loo.

I did not look at the bedrooms. I stayed downstairs and talked to the people who were selling it. They were friendly ladies, and the house had belonged to their cousin. He had lived there with his parents until they died, and then he lived sadly alone until he followed them some years afterwards. The ladies had tried to look after him, but he had not been very interested in being looked after, and eventually he and the house had perished together.

Mark, Lucy and Oliver looked at the bedrooms, and came downstairs announcing that they thought they would scrub up beautifully. Then Lucy offered to buy the house, and the ladies agreed.

Ten minutes later we had an email from the estate agent agreeing that her offer had been accepted.

We went to look at the other three houses after that, but our hearts were not really in it and we did not like them nearly as much anyway. None of them made us wish that we were going to purchase them instead. Indeed, after we had looked at the others we all felt secretly very pleased that the search was over and we need not worry any more, because they were very dull and ordinary and not special and excitingly perfect apart from being a bit trashed.

We came home instead, and talked excitedly about windows and carpets and gardens.

She is going to have a lovely house.