Here's a weird one.
Well, we'd made a pact not to panic about the house thing (you know, like the whole eviction homelessness deal) until April. We've been counting down the days until The Panic can officially start - and Friday April the 1st is like, tomorrow. I'd been holding out that if we just believe, a perfect house will simply fall into our laps. Believe!!! Bloody belieeeeeeve!!!! Manifest darling, man-i-fest!!!!! Uhhhhhh.....
I've been moonfully whispering that on Friday I shall be compelled to put my dreams away. The hopeful house-hunting would become a blindfolded pin-stabbing and a hung-headed acceptance of scum-encircled fence-heightening. Sighs all dramatic-like. Hyphen-addiction is a proper condition OK?
There's been so little to get perky about on our New Home-O-Meter. Everything that's 'nice' is either way out of our price range, or way out of our current life/activities/friends' range. Or gone already when we ring up. Or won't allow children. (Probably wise actually.) We would either have to dig up some buried treasure, or just bury the children, or continuously circle every house in our 'magic triangle' desirable zone for a knob in a suit taking pictures, OR..... make one of those Fresh Start thingies.
Sounds all exciting does a Fresh Start. 'Cept I've done it before - plenty - and this time I'm digging my heels in. It's taken a good couple of years' effort to get to a 'place' where the kids have got friends I allow into the house and who's parents allow them into theirs, and for me to fit with a gang of grown-ups who don't look at me in disgust or pity everytime I spurt forth. Now this is something rare and beautiful. We have found our tribe. If not our right shack. Mr Roving Blade was gunning for moving to Essex. All his best clients are round there, Chelmsford's got a ice rink with extra fun fun fun activities for all the family to enjoy, cheaper property, good access, friendly natives...... I mean like The Only Way Is Essex right? And 'Oh I love the geezers! It's all about the geezers innit?' (What? You've not been watching my favourite telly programme? You're ah' of orda!) Yeah Essex ticked all the right boxes but........ Nooooooooooooo!!!!!!!! Sumink's just not right. I got my tribe man innit dahn 'ere like. But we need a new cave!!!!!
It must be Mr RB's inner Nomad showing his face. He's got a new book he has: Warriors, Nomads & Settlers - Discovering Who We Are & What We Can Be. He did the test on me - albeit at a rather stressful time when I was trying to get 4 hopeless hooligans ready and out the door one morning for a dayful of antics. He's asking me double-edged questions while I'm shaking a small boy into his trousers with one hand, filling 5 water bottles with the other, sourcing particular tracksuit bottoms with the left eye, x-ray spotting a missing trainer with the other and zipping up my boots with kinetic mind control. 'How determined/dogmatic are you?' 'What? Dunno. Say 3. Under the settee, have any of you cleaned your teeth, no it's probably in the machine, have you found your library books yet?' 'How adaptable/indecisive can you be?' 'Oh I dunno, where you bloody left them, about a 6 or 7 maybe, well we'll just renew them then, no 8. 9!!' How inspiring/over-dramatic-' 'Get out of my oxygen, you look lovely, mop that up, stop pinching, get in the car, dogmatic? Look I'm not a bloody octopus!' 'Why don't you ever answer a direct question? You just can't be honest can you!' 'What did you bloody say?' 'You're not concentrating. I answered all these questions straight away' 'It's not about speed I'm THINKING!!!' 'You're just trying to get round it but you have to just be honest.' 'I AM TRYING to be honest not just say the first thing like you do and then pretend I'm all cool and sharp when you're just a fly-be-night shallow reactionary who changes his mind after every different conversation' 'God you're so negative!' 'No I'm not!' 'Just answer the damn question.' 'What was the bloody question?' 'How argumentative can you be?' '2!' Anyway I came out as a Settler which I fumed about the whole the auto-pilot drive to gymnastics, while I negotiated my usual parking space, as I ushered the urchins into the gym and rearranged their spewed socks and shoes into orderly stacks, nestled into one of the 3 comfy perches and got out me knitting. Oh yeah I AM a Settler aren't I? Obviously I quickly realised that the Settlers are by far the superior personality type. We are the engaging, flexible, compassionate, artistic ones. We won't just bugger off or twat you if you disagree with us. (Oh no - we're way cleverer than that!) Anyway, I'm not keen on the Essex idea alright?
And then today we have the landlord's agents round to sneek a peek at the ruins of a once fine building we have joyfully trashed, and instead of having us arrested, they offer us the soon-to-be-vacated larger farmhouse 800 yards up the road.
W T F ? ? ? ! ! !
The day before Panic Day a house indeed falls into our lap. So why am I saying NO NO NO NO NO!!!! Huh?
Mr RB is jitterbugging with joy. Essex is forgotten. He likes it round here! But then he's not the one driving an hour and a half to the bleedin' ice rink, and an hour and a half back, twice a week. And 45 mins to our hall/swimming/psycho play centre meets..... Half an hour to our gym/museum/drama/parks..... Half an hour in the opposite direction to the other gym/football/other football........ 45 mins to the nearest friend.... Like every bleedin' day. (It's an hour to the nearest family member which is not disastrous in itself but babysitting would be a tad easier if we were a teensy bit closer......) And a spot in our 'magic triangle' would seriously cut down on time and diesel, for most of the list anyway. And would also reduce my ritual subjection to Now 77 Disc Two on endless loop. I mean come on!!!
The house up the road is apparently bigger, nicer, one bedroom short but with an office and a conservatory (like wassat?). But we would still have to actually MOVE stuff. I think Mr RB imagines rounding up a couple of burly nephews, piling settees and mattresses onto a skateboard and skipping along the leafy track with a bluebird on his shoulder.
But it is a house. And tomorrow is Panic Day. It's a bloody HOUSE - for US! And I'm STILL complaining!!!!
Time for a reality check. Or should that be a realty check? Is I being a spoilt brat or is I got a flyable point? I just don't know my own mind anymore..... Adaptable/indecisive??? Bloody confused.
OK - pros and cons:
We would lose - a minute per trip and a bedroom.
We would gain - a roof over our heads.
Written like that it looks a fairly simple matter doesn't it?
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All this talk of ideal homes....... Reminds me of another gem from my best telly prog: Mark and Lauren are moving in together (yeah right....)
M: What do you want a table for? Nah I wanna keep my flat as it is. Like boisterous.
L: Boisterous? Nah it's depressin'. It's like a broffel's house. It needs a woman's touch.
M: Ughh it'll look like a bloody doll's house in a week wiv yer pink barfroom and and.... dining room table!
L: Yeah wait 'til I start wiv the flowers.... and pictures...
M: WE ARE NOT HAVIN' PICTURES!
What would he think of my shelfful of bonkers horned-obsessed pottery or our photos of paint-smeared odd-shoed naked monkeys? I utterly must invite them round!
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Woke up the next morning to the sound of 'There's a great place in Deal. 5 bedrooms, by the sea, and right near some of the best golf courses in England.'
Pretended to still be asleep.