Friday, February 25, 2011

Welcome Home

I was so certain we weren't going to renovate another house. Six years after completing our previous home, we put it on the market. We loved the house; a 1931 semi we'd bought 12 years previously, but two children later, we'd outgrown it. We needed more space, a bigger garden, a study, a playroom. A year in Sydney had fuelled a desire for open space and wider skies.

Problem was, there was nothing suitable to buy. The 'perfect' house had a north facing garden, the south-facing victorian pile had dark, narrow rooms. We didn't want a boxy new-build, and we didn't want to blow the budget buying somebody else's kitchen. And then came this.

'I have something possibly coming to the market,' said the estate agent as he jotted his valuation onto a business card. 'It needs work, but I can see what you've done to this house and I can see you'd have the vision.'

'No way,' I replied. 'I've got two small children, I couldn't face it - I remember the last time.'

'It's on a big plot,' he continued. 'And the price is rock bottom for the neighbourhood.'

Six months later, we're living in it. And so we start again.

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