Wednesday, September 02, 2009


So, of course, we went to see the Canon Street property on Saturday and, of course, I completely fell in love with it and, of course, I cried when we went to see the Stockbridge Road house because it was smaller and darker than I remembered and I was terrified that Robbie would make us buy it.

So, of course, I won - and our offer was accepted this morning! Not only is it a better situated house - on one of the loveliest streets in Winchester - but it has better development potential and, get this, is £65k cheaper!

I am so much more excited that I was about Stockbridge Road - the house is in just such a lovely location and is exactly where I wanted to be when I thought about moving to Winchester. And, another plus, it's wider than the other 2-beds on the road because it's newer so even though it's not a period property, it's better value.

Rob's already drawing up the plans :).

Anyway - we're over the moon and hope that things go okay. Am so pleased to de-register from and to think about the most amazing change in my life to date: moving out of London (woohoo!) and into a lovely little home with my beautiful, fun and gorgeous boyfriend.

Speaking of whom - after horrific rows on Saturday and a wierd non-day on Sunday when we didn't have anything to do for the first time in months and were all discombobulated by it, we went for a picnic at Hever Castle. It was a beautiful sunny day and I had images of green lawns and relaxing lounging - Hever, however, is a haven for chav families with screaming kids and fake Bugaboos, and the spectacle of topless, tattoed men wondering around the beautiful late Victorian Italian gardens have been seared onto my retinas forever. Honestly - those flapping moobs and sad little bellies were hardly fitting for the former home of Anne Boleyn. We left, aghast, after a few hours because Rob was hot and threatening to take his t-shirt off, and stopped in at Chartwell on the way home - although we simply drove through the car-park, the densely packed cars were far more of our ilk and the tottering white-haired folk, clutching tartan rug and flask, reminded us that we are this far from getting a National Trust Season Ticket.

Would that be such a bad thing?

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