Living in a small village is probably some people's idea of purgatory (it's my new favourite word:
purgatory - so on point, so Dante), but to me it's heaven and a real life-saver. We moved our big family-life, lock stock and 15 barrels four years ago now, although by the roots growing beneath my feet you'd think we've been here most of our lives. Which is in fact what I'd like you (and myself) to believe, but then I wouldn't be the person I am today. Without those 8 longdistance moves (I'm talking countries people,
not houses, please!) I probably wouldn't be able to tell a story or two on this blogthing.
Nevertheless here we are, in our bliss, having to once again face up to the idea of change. As some of you know the word "change" brings out the worst in me. Just ask my husband what happens when he suggests something along the lines of "Why don't we move the sofa over there?" I go all weird and pannicky, it's not a pretty sight. In fact he knows better now than to just make such suggestions without priming me first ("Take a deep breath, nothing's going to happen, we can put everything back the way it was in a jiffy, I
promise"). Unsurprisingly I already have my fingers dug deep into the ground, desperately gripping with my hands and feet in an attempt to
not alter the status quo.
But the good thing about
this change I suppose, is that it doesn't involve another country but only another house. Heck! I can do
that with my eyes closed. But even to take me out of the village (nevermind the country), would mean you'd have to kill me first. Even the neighbouring village is difficult for me. I am so woven into the fabric of my local surrroundings now, the friendly and very familiar faces, my little superstrong supporting network of very good friends (some of which actually do live in the neighbouring villages but I won't hold that against them) that leaving all this now would cause irreparable damage (how dramatic does THAT sound, eh?). What I'd like to know though, is how I got to this stage? What happened in the last four years that have turned me into this wanderlustless person? It's probably my age and it's more than a little likely that it has something to do with the fact that I have spent too much of my time moving around and now that my greys are growing quicker than I'd care to mention, I am possibly showing the first signs of intollerance that from my personal recollection, become a very recognisable character trait in the elder generation. Just kidding, I'm young and I'm raring to go. But I am petrified of change. Make of that what you will.
So, after this very longwinded prelude I finally get to the point. Which is that we are in the market for a new house. Here in this part of the world, real estate agents don't really have a great time as most transactions happen through word of mouth. Houses are not seen as investments and they certainly don't increase in value over time as they do in the UK. Once you buy a house here, you stay in it forever (now there's a nice word) and if you do decide to move, you tend to let it as selling it would instantly place you in a much higher tax bracket. Land on the other hand is much more desirable as architecture and build-your-own are 2 very realistic and also very chic options. So how about it? Why don't we try our hand at this housebuilding malarkey? As it happens I have a dream. It's a
Neutra kind of dream...and I'm sure you'll agree, it would look spot on, on trend, on point etc, right here in my little village. It looks something like
this.
