I
promised the other half that I wouldn’t go on about ‘sticky buns’ but like
everyone else, I’m struggling to talk or think about anything but. It’s hard not to obsess about it. Just ask my brother who’s jotting down the
daily death statistics for Greenwich if you need to know what the latest
position is for South London.
As
I sit here in front of my keyboard wondering how the world went to hell in a
handcart and sadly shaking my head at the latest email received confirming that
this year’s Download Festival has been cancelled, it’s becoming harder to spot
the silver lining in this otherwise very black cloud.
Property
buying/selling is now the only straw hope I have left to cling to and even this
is in danger of being blown away by the chilly wind gusting round the
garden.
We’ve made an offer on what I’m
affectionately calling the ‘Biddy Bungalow’ that we viewed in Chichester a few
weeks ago so have now entered that stomach churning, nail biting phase of
property poker that takes place before a final bid is accepted. It goes something like this – initial offer
(rejected too low), counter-offer (still too low), second counter (greedy
seller/agent), raise you again (you've got a cheek!), and maxed out final offer (bastard, I hope you get
coronavirus!).
Would be a lovely home for us two old biddies |
To
be honest, our offer is a bit of a leap of faith since our property is not even
on the market yet and now that all population movement is restricted, I can’t
even begin to guess how we are going to put it up for sale. As my father used to tell me, there’s always
more than one way to skin a cat. Good
job he doesn’t go round making statements like that anymore especially within
earshot of our two furry cling-ons. They’d
be horrified!
All
we can do in the meantime is continue to decorate, de-clutter and de-fumigate
so that we’re in a position to go for it as soon as normal service is resumed. Perhaps in a couple of weeks’ time, Boris
will relax the rules a bit then we can get back on track with our relocation
plan.
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