House Hunting
So we spent the weekend in Inverness looking for a house to buy. Mrs Z had arranged a timetable based on the assumption that we would spend about thirty minutes in each house and then ten minutes driving to the next one. It didn鈥檛 quite work out that way.
You can only spend so long looking through people鈥檚 bedrooms, opening their cupboards and asking inane questions about plumbing and the number of electrical sockets. As it turned out, many of the houses on our list were within walking distance of each other, but we took the car anyway. It gave us a little sanctuary where we could compare notes and score out those properties we both hated. We also munched our way through one of those big multi-packs of crisps.
It鈥檚 interesting to see how different house-sellers approach this whole process. Some are content to point us towards rooms and let us wander freely. Others take us on a guided tour, pointing out ample shelving space and thermostats. Each one had a compelling reason for leaving their existing home which fascinated me more than the property features. I felt like I was gathering plot-lines for a soap opera. One woman gave us a detailed account of her medical history and I found myself asking about her prescription painkillers and the likely prognosis for her recovery.
Pity the poor Zedettes who trailed along behind us for most of Saturday with the promise that we鈥檇 take them to Whin Park in the afternoon. They wanted to go on the paddle-boats there, but, then it started to rain and that had to be postponed until Sunday morning.
We must have looked at twelve different properties over the weekend, but we鈥檙e no nearer to a conclusion. We might have to go for the new-build option which would delay our move to Inverness until September. Not too bad, but now that we鈥檝e made the decision to move north we just want to get on with it.
And back home we now have to show buyers around our own home. Excuse me while I go and count the electrical sockets.
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