Patience is not my Virtue

Sometimes my patience is given a test, and today is one of those days. Normally, I’m quite a tolerant person, but of late I seem to have developed an entirely new persona  - we’ll call her Daily Mail Woman. I find increasingly I’m either outraged, horrified, or astounded. And almost never in a good way.

At the moment I’m attempting to sell my house. I understand we’re in a recession, I really do, and I know this is never going to go smoothly. In fact in a survey today, I read that moving house is rated as 4^th in the top causes of stress.

I wish.

I wish I could get as far as moving house. I’m still stuck on the selling part and already my blood pressure is 830 over boiling. We’ve had a few people round to have a look, the estate agent has shown some of them round, the other half and I have shown some of them round, probably we’ve shown the same ones round so dreadful has the process been so far. In fact there’s probably just one couple that’s been shown round 10 times. And the feedback I’ve had so far? “I’m not sure about the heating” (I have warm air heating, rather than radiators.) “I’m not sure about the parking” (I don’t have a drive). And my personal favourite “I’m not sure about the carpets – do you think the owner would take them up and put other ones down?” (Yes of course, we can go out together and go to the shops and choose them, no expense spared and the treat’s on me. We can be new best friends for ever.)

But even that isn’t what really makes me cross. It’s articles in the newspapers declaring that the “home dream “is over” for young”. Apparently, such is the average cost of a house now, a buyer will have to save an average deposit of 10%, roughly equating to £18600 and £29700 in London.

How much?

Not if you buy my house you won’t. I don’t live in a slum, I have a good family sized three bedroomed house and I live within an hour’s commute of the UK’s second city (no, not Manchester), a journey which I undertake twice a day so I can get to my job. I’ll accept I don’t live in a leafy suburb of the Home Counties, I don’t have a conservatory, laundry room, integrated fridge/dishwasher/tumble dryer/chef/butler and I won’t even put down the carpets you like.

So the dream of buying a house isn’t over. It’s nonsense. In these times you have to be realistic, you have to live where you can afford, and you have to make a choice and stop waiting for the magic fairy to bring you a five bedroomed mansion with a walk in wardrobe and a dog.

You have to buy a house you can afford.

Mainly mine.