The big move to the country

The date was 30 June 1999. The day we moved to the country to live the dream. Of course, nothing ever goes smoothly in house moving (sorry, Jane!) and at the bottom of our (fairly short) chain was a nubie. A first time buyer. We nearly lost the cottage because, poor unadvised, inexperienced soul that he was, walked around with the signed contract in his pocket for nearly two weeks. Two weeks! Aargh……..

Moving up from Kent was deemed a “two day move” by our removal company. I think we must have had THE biggest articulated removal truck in the whole world. We live on a single track lane. Savvy? (Sorry, HUGE Johnny Depp fan! Well, actually, HUGE Jack Sparrow fan, if you must know). Truck + single track lane = total gridlock in the country. New neighbours? Not impressed. Especially as we were held up until 4pm, and we’d been told we’d complete at 12noon. First time buyer had last minute hiccup with mortgage. Ah! There would be a slight delay. At 3pm our solicitor rang (thank heavens for mobiles): “Erm (cough), if this doesn’t get sorted out, we might have to delay completion until tomorrow.” WHAT?

Now, what I haven’t told you is that my mum and dad were also helping us move. In fact, they were the ones who “found” our cottage for us. Back-tracking slightly (I do this a lot, sorry) we had been trawling, correction; I had been trawling the countryside for suitable rural retreats for months. Won’t bore you with the details, so blah, blah, blah (forward winding the tape) we were getting desperate. J was sitting pretty back at home in Kent: “No, darling….. you go. You know what we want. You do the first viewings and draw up a shortlist. Then I’ll come”. Canny bugger.

Why is it that you can explain to an estate agent that you live nearly 200 hundred miles away and so don’t want a wasted journey, but they still tell you that you “must view this one”. Er, I said NO: pigs, pylons, pubs or main roads (thanks to Kirstie Allsop). I’d almost given up. Well, actually, I had, temporarily.

The big move was also, partly, so that we could be nearer my family. We are close. Very close. But, it’s not just that. Modern families seem so disjointed nowadays, don’t they? Years ago, families lived near one another. Mum’s helped daughters with their kids. Big family roasts on a Sunday, Easter, Christmas…….. and just because. So, mum and dad were going off on one of their “days out”. They do it every week, now they are retired. One evening, the phone rang and it was mum: “I’ve found it!!” No, hello darling, how are you? Just, “I’ve found it!” And so she had……..

Forward wind to 30 June 1999 again. We’d arrived too early, of course, delirious with excitement. Previous occupants were still moving out so we camped in the garden. I was 32 years old – a grown up. But it was still mum who had provided the cool box with sandwiches, cake, a flask of coffee (tea is always so horrid in a flask, isn’t it?), deck chairs even! God bless her!! J had come up separately in his van, and, lucky for us, the previous occupants let us have a wander around the house before it was officially ours. The landing window affords the most stunning view and mum opened the window and leaned out to admire it. “Right, everyone out!” called the “outgoing” owners. Oh! They explained that the estate agent had said to lock up and push the key through the letter box. No admittance until completion proper. Humbug.

Forward wind again to 3.40pm. Phone call from solicitor – it was ours! Trip to town to collect keys from agent………. In the meantime, good old mum confessed she had left the landing window open deliberately. Removal men rummage in truck for ladder…….. hey, presto! J scrambles up, climbs in and retrieves key from inside porch. I go off to town, but by the time I got back, they’d half unloaded and mum was making tea! We’d arrived.