STICKY BUN PANDEMIC

The other half has now banned the use of the word ‘Coronavirus’ in his presence as he’s sick of hearing about it so from now on I’ll be referring to anything connected to this global pandemic as ‘sticky buns’.

I’ll be watching the daily news to see how many people have died from sticky buns and which countries have banned sticky buns altogether.  I’ll be scouring web pages for the best sticky bun survival tips as well as stocking up on essential provisions (not panic buying) so that I can keep eating sticky buns during periods of self-isolation. Yummy!  Always remember to wash your hands before eating sticky buns or else you could catch Coronavirus.  Damn!  I said it again!

Recycled as toilet paper

Whilst the other half hunkers down behind his beer barricade, I’ve been left to bravely venture out to Chichester for a delightful day of house hunting. 

Beer - curing all ailments for centuries

There were 4 candidates on today’s episode of ‘Blind House Date’ – a detached bungalow, a semi-detached chalet bungalow and a couple of two bed terraced houses.  It’s been 20 years since I last bought a house so to say I’m a little bit out of it would be an understatement.  My thinking is that if you apply the same mind-set used to buy a new outfit to buying a new house then you can’t go wrong.  At the end of the day, we all want a dress that looks a million dollars but at half the price, the same applies to a new house.

My first house-hunting adventure was like an episode of ‘Escape to the Country’.  First on the podium was the chalet bungalow.  Good location, plenty of parking space and lovely garden.  Nice post-war interior (being the last time it was decorated) and more cracks on show than a row of hairy-arsed builders.  Still, it had charm and without the Stannah stair lift, would make a lovely home.

Next, a quaint two bed terraced house neatly sandwiched into a row of other similar looking houses like a commuter on the 7.30 am Northern Line minus the sweaty pits.  Lovely décor if you don’t mind stripped bare staircases or walls with dents carefully hidden behind a sofa.  Deceptively spacious interior and unsurprisingly went under offer the day after I visited.

Third encounter of the property kind was the detached bungalow.  Situated at the bottom of a private cul-de-sac, I was conscious of every curtain twitching as I walked down the road to the front door.  Ah, neighbourhood watch area I mused.  Spacious interior, sun soaked South facing garden and a fug of doggy aroma that only heavy duty de-fumigation might clear.  ‘There’s a third room in the loft’ the estate agent helpfully pointed out – yes, up a vertical wooden ladder.  With my bad knees, I don’t think so.

And last but not least, the other terraced house.  Compact and bijoux were the words that sprung to mind as I stood in the centre of a kitchen the size of a postage stamp.  Spacious starter home for a midget perhaps but not for our vast collection of tat.  (I think that’s a definite NO then) 

So having met all my ‘house dates’, I came away un-wowed, un-infected and determined to spend the next 14 days on Rightmove drawing up the next shortlist of potential ‘suitors’ to check out.

Ready, steady, pack!