Thursday, October 22, 2009
Noel Fielding in Kentish Town looking confused
Marianne Faithful coming out of Notting Hill tube station with a nice young man
Gordon Brown shaking hands with a broad-through-the-beam woman behind our building
Will Self walking up Ilkley High St (admittedly not in London)
I wonder who I'll see today :)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Last night we managed to spend quite a lot of the evening not talking about houses – which, let me tell you, is no mean feat.
It’s all we’ve talked about for the past six weeks. Sometimes, when we’re in bed ... you know ... I close my eyes and see shaker kitchen cabinets and disastrous carpets and floor plans. It’s disturbing to say the least – having just read Chocky*, I’m more than a little concerned that perhaps some house-mad alien has infiltrated my head and emptied it of all useful items, such as how to cook Bolognese so that it tastes of something other than pan and how to concentrate at work for longer than three seconds without compulsively refreshing Rightmove.com . Must. Look.At.Houses. Gah! Even now, mid-sentence, I’m thinking – perhaps we SHOULD go see the Canon Street property, and I just sent Robbie a rather bland looking townhouse in Shawford. My Chocky needs therapy.
We had a little row about the usual stuff which I felt bad about afterwards because I think it’s my uncertainty at buying the house. I’m worried that it’s too much work for us and we’ll end up completely broke. I found it hard to get to sleep last night thinking those thoughts. Who can when they’re looking at having no money for the foreseeable future and a desperate need for a top which is almost a dress but not quite and can be worn with the almost skinny jeans. Oh, and the £2.5k I need to pay for my MA this year.
So, I checked with my mortgage broker this morning and have completely terrified myself (and Rob) with potential repayment options. I won’t bore you with the details, but monthly repayments on a £280k mortgage are eye-opening. I remember my sister telling me how much her mortgage was and me saying solemnly to myself – I will never pay that much. I think it was about £400.
I wonder how much our children will end up paying ...
To lighter things:
Books I’ve read this week
Savage Grace by Natalie Robins and Steven M. L. Aronson – absolutely fascinating, impressively researched but incredibly depressing. The perfect of example of what happens when you’re very bright but you don’t have to work. It was a relief when it was all over, but I still want to shake Brooks Baekeland for being such a self-absorbed nob.
*Chocky by John Wyndham – short and, as such, after the 450 pages of Savage Grace, a good read, if only for the wonderfully dated language. Really beautiful relationship between father and son. And nothing like what I remember of the children’s tv series – no pulsating triangles anywhere. Or was that just me?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The big problem between us in this whole affair is that he sees a house as a financial investment to make as much money from as possible, whereas I see it as a home. It's Heart vs. Head.
We fight about this constantly: we see a house together and, even if I hate it because, for example, it has bedroom ceilings billowing towards the floor with age, if it has development potential, he'll never ever discount it. But if I see something that I like but he doesn't - usually because it's been finished really well and the most he could possibly do is put up a shower curtain or a mug hook - he won't discuss it. Not in the slightest: I loved this converted chapel. He hated it. End of. He loved this thatched cottage with the most disgusting carbuncle of a 70s extension sticklebricked onto its side; I said Absolutely Not, and yet he STILL brings it up - even though the old lady who lives there won't take less than our top, top budget which would mean living there in sour-milk hell until we either inherited a fortune or I went back on the game ... I caught him with the plans up on the laptop only the other day. Seriously? I said. But ... he said.
I complain (very well), but, in Rob's defence, he helps balance out the romantic in me who'll buy a house because it has nice wallpaper/lampshades/sofas/cat asleep on the bunkbeds. And we've come up with an excellent plan for opening up the downstairs of Stockbridge Road which we can do because he's a structural engineer and knows these things, so I guess his practicality isn't as bad as I make out - although it does make compromising and liking him at the same time rather tricky.
In other new, we've decided not to see Canon Street as Rob has stated: I hate it. And because I always like to make out I'm super nice and the best person in the relationship, I've said okay, we won't see it - but honestly, I didn't want to either: I think I'm slowly falling for Stockwell Road ...
I have a viewing at my flat today. Fingers crossed ...