Thursday, June 30, 2016

our last day in clapham

After some pretty rigorous last minute to and froing, after what our buyers did to us (I'm keeping it exclusive for the London Evening Standard, as much as I want to detail in point what them and our evil French neighbour did), we finally exchanged and closed on our house yesterday.

We own a house. A big, adulty, mostly freestanding, house.

After seven months of uncertainty, and having this almost fall through at least four times. After buyers pulling out, and houses having to go back on the market. A domino of six houses in the chain, where if one falls through, the rest follow.
It's a miracle anyone can buy a damn house in this country at all, given the system here.

I can only vaguely remember what it actually looks like inside; I have to pull up the agent photos, but even then, the proportions and dimensions are a bit shirky to mind. I am helluva excited to get in there tomorrow - ermergherd termerreh - to start measuring things, dreaming up wall colours, making it our home.

Sebastian isn't going to know what to do with himself. He'll have two floors of stairs to climb, a big [for London] garden, what seems like miles of uninterrupted space to run around in and potter around. He'll start a new nursery next week for a few days a week; and not so sure how this will go down, to be honest. He has made two firm little chums at his current nursery; and they're thick as thieves. I'm really sad to be taking him away from that.
Big changes ahead for him - new home, new nursery...and new sister.

This is the chaos that surrounds me right now, as I wallow on the couch with swollen feet. Thank goodness for my mum and Brit and the packers doing the heavy lifting around here, is all I can say.

Can't believe it's the final night in our flat tonight.
The end of a chapter living in what is deemed to be "London," in a lock-up-and-go; a place where we bought home our first baby, lost a baby; the first official home I owned (with someone).
Living our summer days on Clapham Common, only moments away. Clapham has been my home, really, for the last 6 years I've lived in London. Moving to a new borough is a big move for me.

Now we are in the family life phase of our lives - a house, garden, 'family-friendly suburb' of Greater London/home counties, living in a commuter town, with a new baby on the way.

 Beckenham awaits.


Nicole M said...

But Peas, wheeeere isss itttt?? :)

Congrats on finally being able to move, Im looking forward to reading about the drama (assuming you post it on your blog after it hits the Evening Standard, because I dont read the Evening Standard or the Metro...or at least, let us know when it will be in ES so I pick up a copy en route to Cannon Street) :)
Im sorry you had to go through such shit with shitty people. I also wonder how anyone every manages to buy property here...the process is very backward.

Nicole M said...

Oh, I see you said Beckenham. Haha. *Blind*

churchaholic said...

Let me compare notes and see if you've got a saleable story. Buyer agrees price after some initial to-ing and fro-ing. Solicitors protract sale beyond comprehension. Eventually all the ducks seem to be in a row. Some shit happens - possibly in your case Brexit, in mine a supposed valuation on my property of £0. Buyer offers to pursue sale despite this if I accept knocking off £20k; I'm so far down the line of the sale that my balls are in the vice that I have no choice. Accept their reduced offer in order to keep the chain alive and they buy my property at the ludicrous offer they first made.

Welcome to the property market and the great Britain we've become; if this my country I want no part of it.