Tom's Notes—Trepidation

We're close to having our house.

We've found the one for us. We've made an offer. The offer's been accepted. We're close.

And yet so far. The good news was last week; this week the survey was completed, and the news was bad—the roof is gone, there's a woodworm infestation in the timbers; rising damp climbs the masonry. £20,000 to fix it all.

So we stand in front of a bridge; 20,000 pound coins in length. Our house and its owners are on the other side. We can't walk to them, we can't meet in the middle. We can only go 5,000 pounds forward—but can they come 15,000 pounds this-a-way?

All we can do is watch and wait, in trepidation.

Tom's Notes—House Hunting

Hands up who's bought a house?

Nana's, and my, hands aren't up. But we half made the gesture for a moment there. We're not home-owners, we're house-hunters. I mentioned this in passing a few Notes' ago; in the one about music. About a month later and we're still hunting. Our hunt, though, has zeroed in on its target.

Rye is the prize.

Yes, you may recognize the name. There've been a couple of posts featuring Rye on Together:

- The Life of Rye

and

- Old Town Kent

Beautiful place. Rye isn't actually in Kent; it's in East Sussex. Camber Sands is round the way, and Rye is surrounded by the good green (no pylons and telephone lines buggering up the views). It's the place for us.

(Funny how you can travel far and wide looking for what you want, and find it 20 minutes down the road...)

So, we're a-hunting in Rye. And we're getting very very close to the quarry...

That's why our hands half went up.