Tuesday, 4 November 2014

That 'Gypsy feeling' is creeping up on me.

I like moving house! Yeh it's a pain in the arse and a lot of hard work before during and after, but I do love it.

Not being a hoarder, chucking stuff out to pack up is an exciting time. A little trip down memory lane leads to an Everest pile of crap and an excellent excuse to go off to the humpity bump.

I have moved a LOT.

Before I became a child bride, I lived with the parentals and then with my darling Nanna. While married we moved house 3 times, and then as a newly single woman / mother of one I moved twice.

Our house at Camp Hill was home for the longest time - about 14 years.

Then my little sojourn to London stretched from one year to 7 years and saw me move 3 times. After 15 years as a single I became a partner and we moved 3 more times in London and since moving back to OZ have moved 4 times, into the little flat, into the broken down house, back to the little flat and now into the Big House, all the while making trips back to Steve's mother country, where we moved out of the Tall house and into a lovely flat.

So all up that's about 17 house moves. 17 packing ups and unpackings . 17 times of finding new homes for stuff and orienting to new local shops and people and transport and parking and giving directions to cabbies when you are more than a little pissed. This is an art form in itself and comes only after a good few attempts.

It's also a whole hell of a lot of dealing with Real Estate agents. On the way in and the way out. Bloody hell!! I have spent a huge fucking amount of time with people trying to con me. FUCKING HELL!!

So now we are thinking that we'd quite like to move again, maybe back to Brisvegas. If I could just do a 'Bewitched' and wriggle my nose and be there I would be a happy girl. I don't mind all the organisation of the moving out and in, it's the 'dealings' that give me the screaming irrits.

A while back we had the Goldie legends of Real Estate come to visit. They told us nothing except that we needed to happily fork out more than $10000 for them to even consider trying to sell the place and that we needed to also spend - well how long is a piece of string, getting the house in order. They wanted us to get to get in decorators and hire furniture and the list went on and on, and no that wasn't part of the Ten grand. That little pot of cash was just for them to spend on advertising or something.

There's a bloke we like who is gonna pop in again today. He's not pushy, but he is an agent and we need to remind ourselves about that all the time.

Steve and I agree that we want to put the place on the market, softly. We don't even know if it is possible. We don't want a sign up and we won't pay for advertising and we don't want open houses where people pop in for a sticky beak, use your loo and steal your remote control batteries. We don't want strangers popping in after we have spent hours polishing the windows and the bathrooms. We just want Paul to let any of his buyers know that this place is an option if they have enough cash. He can take some picies or he can use some we already have and if people like the look of it and he knows they are not time wasters then he can bring 'em on over, catch us with our pants down and have little look around.

I could get very excited about moving to Brisvegas but only after the torment and drama of selling the Big House is behind us.

Anyone want to buy our place??

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