It’s Saturday evening. The end of a long week. I’ve just got in from Chelmsford, where I took some sadistic and perverse delight in walking among the frantic shoppers, safe in the knowledge that with all of my shopping done I could just enjoy the lights, music and smells of the market stalls.

And so here I sit at the end of an eventful, and perhaps life-changing week. A week in which I finally turned in last year’s tax return, I took two days out of the office to tick off a nasty cluster of admin jobs, and the MacUser team - local and remote - got together for our Christmas lunch in a fantastic little French restaurant where the menu was peppered with venison, partridge and pheasant.

More importantly, though - and the reason why it could perhaps have been a life-changing week - was the acceptance of my offer on a house.

It’s an old house, like I’ve always wanted, with box bays, sash windows, a long long garden, an office that takes up the whole of the windowed and carpeted loft, and three bedrooms of which one is half the size of the whole of my flat.

Built in 1907, it’s an Edwardian house with a history, a little black and red tiled path leading up to the front door and a fireplace in every room, including the master bedroom. Turn right out of the front door and 50 paces later you’re in the middle of a park, with a river running through it into the closest town.

And so begins months of solicitors’ questions, mortgage applications, survey reading, and anxious waiting as we discover whether this antique property is being eaten away by rot or infested by animals with six legs or more.

By the time I finally move my crossed fingers will be blue from lack of blood. It’ll be worth it.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 16th, 2006 at 7:35 pm and is filed under Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.