A surveyor came round to …um… survey my house yesterday. It actually looks like we’re going to be able to sell it and afford le château de grenouille. It’s just so tiring sorting out the move. Every time it rains I’m convinced that the garage will flood and all my valuables that I hid there to make my house look bigger will be ruined forever.
I just want to be able to leave the washing up in the sink for when I get home or not care that the loo seats are left up or all the milk bottles are put out rather than being left on the windowsill. I hate all the tidiness and lack of clutter.
I hate having to deal with estate agents and their irritating falseness and lies. I know they have a job to do but why not be honest about it. Is there something in their blood that makes them choose lie over truth? I really hate that the government will be getting a nice big chunk of tax money in the form of stamp duty from me just when I need to spend a lot of money of legal fees. I hate the legal fees and the huge mark up the conveyancer adds on for even the most basic local searches. I hate the greed of it all and especially the greedy part of me that covets the bigger house.
I am looking forward to each of the kids having a bedroom of their own so they have less reason to try to kill one another. I’m looking forward to the clutter of unpacking, of getting new pet rats to share the house with us (boy rats this time), and to finding my way around a new neighbourhood again. I’m looking forward to getting to know the neighbours and I’m hoping that they are at least half as good as the ones I’ll be leaving.
I’m not looking forward to sorting out all the utilities again or mail forwarding but it might be good to just write to everyone in my address book and give them my new address. I could even use it as an excuse to renew a few old acquaintances. You never know, it might be good for an antisocial git like me.
Now all I’ve got to do is sort out the new mortgage, get a surveyor of my own, pay everyone, pack and move.