Was out yesterday for my usual Saturday of searching for a home to live in. I drove over the side from where I am this time, over bayside.
For the first time in my searching I found a place I could live in. It was not flash, more than adequate, though not a lot more, and without any real style – but furnished it was a home I could be comfortable in. There was a yard for Rigby, plenty of space, and even if it was on a main road it was not badly located. I took an application form as I left.
I had hours to kill until my next open for inspection so dropped by JV’s for a while. He was cleaning the cool. Beccy, his fiance, was humungous with child and sharing a cup of tea and cake with a friend of hers. I had a coffee, a chat, then headed off again.
With time still up my sleeve I drove to the end of Bluff Road and mosyed my way to True South, a brewery pub across the road from the beach. I chatted to the barmaid, sampled a couple of beers, had something to nibble on, and read through the weekend papers sitting by the window. Mellow as. Bayside-ites filtered in throughout my time there, affluent and comfortable, kids in tow, the weekend shorts on to catch the rays of the Spring sun.
Off I went again to another OFI. This time, again, the agent failed to show, but I was not as pissed off as I might have been. The house wasn’t right, I knew that without even walking in the door. This one was on a major road and the necessary serenity was not there for H. Cross that one off and off to the next.
The next was in a quiet street not far from the main drag at Hampton: an ideal location. It was the back property of two. I got there and found once more the place all locked up. I rang the bell regardless,
A moment or two later a woman poked her head around the corner. Turns out she lives in the front place and wondered who was ringing the bell. I explained to her the situation and we stood there talking for 5 minutes. She was a very pleasant woman happy to share with me about the house I was hoping to inspect, about the owners, who were dear friends, and about the area in general. By now other people had arrived, and eventually the agent.
This place was more expensive, but also more suitable. I loved the bedroom, which had a WIR (see how I’ve got the acronyms down pat?), as well as an en suite complete with spa bath. There was plenty of space in general, and an outdoor entertaining area. Yes? No? I wondered. It ticked off all of my boxes except for price – but what price happiness?
Walking out I was accosted by the neighbour. What do you think? she asked. We talked for another 5 minutes. It seemed clear she favoured me over the other candidates, and told me she was reporting to her friends about us. She urged me to take it, saying that Rigby wasn’t an issue at all. Maybe, I thought. I liked her, and thought a good neighbour is nothing to be sneezed at (though I’ve been quoted as saying that the best neighbour is one you never see or hear). Cya ’round I told her as I left.
I drove back feeling more buoyant than I have for a while. After finding fuck-all in the last few weeks I see two properties on the one day and they’re both winners. Things seemed more positive, though I’m not about to count my eggs. I wonder, all the same, if things are beginning to shift in general. I have my eye on someone too, and could be a goer. I’m ready