Okay, so I expected this to be a Facebook post with photos before it was a blog post, but when does anything go to plan? Well, not when you are buying a house. Yup, that's right, homeownership isn't something simple, would you ever believe it?
This story began in earnest at the end of 2020, when I decided that, instead of waiting to be able to afford to buy a flat in a very particular development just south of where I worked in Croydon, I was going to look for a house in Manchester. The main reasons were space and family.
In terms of space, I was looking at potentially a two-bedroom flat where the second bedroom was big enough for an office and a hobby room, but if I ever met someone and procreated, we would need to move when the kid needed their own room, or, and this was the more realistic one, a one-bedroom flat which would be big enough for me, but God help us if I ever met someone and wanted them to be able to move in with me because there was no room for that to happen there. Either of these options would have been Share to Buy - though without a rent bill on the side which was part of what made them affordable. Anyway, compare this to buying a house on the outskirts of Manchester where I was able to afford a three-bedroom property, the decision seemed to be one that could be made before your morning coffee. No real contest here - a house in Manchester is a good option.
So I started looking, and there was this house that I kind of hated, but I also loved. Between Christmas and New Year I took two viewings of the property - roughly an hour and a half apart from one another - made an offer and it was accepted pretty quickly. So far, it all seemed plain sailing, but then they survey came back, and I was crushed, though it was better to be emotionally crushed by the news than physically crushed by a very problematic roof or by the financial burden of sorting out each of the pretty major things which made me realise it was a nice house, but it was not the house for me.
By the point I came to this realisation, the market had gone MAD. Properties in the price bracket I was happy to look at with the kind of space I was looking for were getting thirteen to fifteen viewings on the first day they were listed, and it seemed impossible to find something that would be right, especially because I suck at painting. I can do the twiddly edge bits and things, but the middle, thoroughly suck at it. I was looking for somewhere that I was able to live in for a decent period of time before having to actually repaint. One of my parents was effectively saying that we can paint anything, whilst the other was pointing to their own house and saying it hadn't been painted in ten years, so there were a lot of places that had to be discounted because of the serious need to fill dings in the wall and then repaint the place.
I had just decided to give up looking for a bit when the details of a house went online, but even by the time I called there were multiple viewings already booked in, and I called then as soon as I had seen the advert which had been online for less than an hour.
That was February. I saw the house, I liked the house, I wanted the house and with a bit of back and forth with the estate agent, I got the house, or the offer accepted at least and was told it would be about June before I got the keys, what with conveyancing and all of that sort of thing.
It wasn't too far wrong. I got my keys on the last working day of May, but even that wasn't simple. There had been a multitude of delays, chasing paperwork around, emails flying back and forward, then on the day everything was supposed to be done, I was waiting for the houses up the chain to complete because the owners of my place couldn't move their stuff into their property to let them release the keys to mine. To me, if I would have been doing last-minute cleaning to make sure I wasn't leaving a mess for someone else, but that's not everyone, clearly.
A very short list of things was: pee in the downstairs toilet was left unflushed because the downstairs loo did not flush, there was dried spaghetti over the kitchen floor - like snapped up pieces, but quite a bit of it, there was dust on everything, and sticky handprints on a lot, too, the backdoor wasn't locking properly, the door handle on one of the bedrooms was hanging off and they had taken out a couple of light bulbs from fittings in different rooms. I get taking your light fittings because I would probably have changed them anyway, but the light bulbs? Oh, and when I looked in my oven, it looked like the shelves were missing, though I happily found these in the dishwasher, and couldn't help but wonder if they knew that the dishwasher isn't really the best way to clean greasy oven things. Granted, that was not a patch on finding that the bottom of the green bin stank worse than anything you could have imagined because there was rotten food practically ingrained into the bottom of the thing.
But all that aside, my neighbours, or a lot of them, have popped over to say hello and introduce themselves, and generally to welcome me to the street which has been lovely. My parents have done a lot already to help me to move in (though that might also be the self-interest of the sooner I'm in there, the sooner I'm out of my childhood bedroom and my stuff will be leaving the rest of the house, as well) from washing down the inside of all the cupboards, wardrobes and essentially cleaning anything in the house or that was moved in, to changing my locks, taking a small piece off of the gate so it opens properly, jet washing the bins (I should really buy him an entire vat of beer for that one because that was a vomitous task) and also driving backward and forwards between their house, my house, the storage unit, B&Q and everywhere else I've needed to go pick things up from as I still don't drive.
Anyway, last night was my first night in the house and it was blissful, aside from realising some of the unique oddities of the house, like most of the doors opening over the light switches, so having to step into a room and shut the door before you can switch the light on, or the bit at the top of the stairs where there is skirting board on the landing, skirting board on the stairs and a four-inch gap where the two should meet that someone just painted skirting board coloured, because why the hell not, so yeah, aside from that, I realised that my house is a comfortable, cosy, wonderful little home and I love the place already, even though I haven't really spent a whole lot of time there. It's a proud moment for me and it's also a really fun moment, because now is the time where I get to come up with all of these ideas of how I want it to be and what I want it to look like, and it's mine, so I can do what I want to. Hell, be crazy, paint the ceilings purple! Except maybe don't because purple ceilings would be properly weird, possibly a bit oppressive, and really difficult to paint back over when you realise it's not the best look for the place. But still, it's mine, it's the place I can be weird and I can make wonderful and just enjoy this experience of being an adult, even if it is way more complicated than I could ever have imagined before I found that first house listing just over six months ago.
And with that, I'm going to take myself off to have another sip of prosecco in celebration of what is probably the biggest thing to happen since coming back to Manchester to sit out 2020 with some company.
