A few weeks ago, it was brought home to me just how bad our financial situation was. Not only were we broke, we were in minus-Ohmygod! figures. The solution was heartbreakingly simple: sell the home we had lived in for 10 years. It was with heavy feet and gloom in my heart, that I went home to tell the family.
When I broke the news to my other half (let's call him FBB. Those of you who know us of old, I hope you will chuckle quietly to yourselves) he was surprisingly not upset. In fact, he got increasingly not upset as we looked at the possibilities of what and where our next home was to be.
We would be downsizing from a 2-bed, positively luxurious, house in a quiet village, to a 1-bed flat in a small town (masquerading as a city because it has a Cathedral). But considering we only really "live" in 3 rooms now -- bedroom, living room, kitchen -- it's not going to be that different. Besides, we had lived in his room in his parents' house for a year and that wasn't bad at all. Also, fewer rooms, less cleaning. I was liking this idea more and more. Until then, I hadn't realised that I was actually quite stressed about being a slacker housekeeper. I always twinged with guilt every time the Wise Outlaw* came to help with the tidying up. No garden, so no gardening, no mowing, and no weeding. Yes, yes, and yes! What's more, since we spend most of our time travelling to the city, we'd be saving loads by actually living in it. I can walk to work, the childminder would be just around the corner and we can have lunch together every day. At home! No more being trapped by infrequent buses and icy roads. My lack of driving ability will no longer be a liability.
Then we looked around at the detritus we had accumulated over the years: shelves bowing with the weight of books stuffed every which way, along with various nick knacks, toys and memorabilia (none of which belongs to our toddler), collections of DVDs, videos, CDs, video games and I kid you not, audio tapes. Then there were the records, magazines, comic books, posters, pictures and boxes of misc scattered throughout the house. One room is full of just bags and boxes of clothes - OK, some of these do belong to the Plate (our toddler) - and a home gym, complete with weights and weight bench.
Hmm. Tardis-like a 1-bed flat is not.
And yet, Big C would not be beaten down. His sunny buoyancy boosted my spirits. I now think we can do this, he and I and our little Plate. To cut a long story sideways, as my Wise Outlaw says, we decided to go for it with gusto.
With a little brilliant advice from our friend, JW, we have now embarked on our next great adventure.
Next blog: Meeting the Estate Agents.