(no subject)
So we didn't move on the 5th. We're living in our old house which instead of easily-negotiated carpeted floors, is now filled with a number of model town versions of Manhattan crafted from brown cardboard. There's only been one occasion where I needed something only to realise I'd packed it, which tells me a) I've been expert in deciding what to pack at the last minute or b)(more likely) we have an awful lot of gubbins that we keep but don't need.
We didn't move because at the 11th hour, four days before the big day, our buyer's lender pulled out. They did this because they thought we were money launderers. (Whenever I hear those words I think of Tom and Jerry's maid lathering up old fivers.) We're not money launderers of course; I'd merely agreed to sell the family house I inherited to my mother's partner Simon for a fair whack less than the asking price, because that's what she asked me to do before she died. Underwriters don't understand people doing financially irrational things for emotional reasons - they just think you're trying to avoid tax.
The last two weeks have been tortuous. We've spoken to IFAs, brokers, accountants, solicitors, property lawyers and a million well-meaning friends, colleagues and family members, hearing much contradictory advice posited as the only solution. Finally, we found a way round it, too dull to go into here, but the upshot is that a new lender is trying to process a mortage for Simon in record time so we don't lose the house we want to buy.
Fingers are being crossed for the next couple of weeks. I won't relax until we step into the new house knowing it's ours, which we hope we'll do on the bank holiday weekend.
Then, and probably only after we do a bit of decorating, and go on holiday in late September (Hong Kong to New Zealand to San Francisco to... Leighton Buzzard) then, THEN we will request your warming services for the new house.
That's the plan, anyway.
We didn't move because at the 11th hour, four days before the big day, our buyer's lender pulled out. They did this because they thought we were money launderers. (Whenever I hear those words I think of Tom and Jerry's maid lathering up old fivers.) We're not money launderers of course; I'd merely agreed to sell the family house I inherited to my mother's partner Simon for a fair whack less than the asking price, because that's what she asked me to do before she died. Underwriters don't understand people doing financially irrational things for emotional reasons - they just think you're trying to avoid tax.
The last two weeks have been tortuous. We've spoken to IFAs, brokers, accountants, solicitors, property lawyers and a million well-meaning friends, colleagues and family members, hearing much contradictory advice posited as the only solution. Finally, we found a way round it, too dull to go into here, but the upshot is that a new lender is trying to process a mortage for Simon in record time so we don't lose the house we want to buy.
Fingers are being crossed for the next couple of weeks. I won't relax until we step into the new house knowing it's ours, which we hope we'll do on the bank holiday weekend.
Then, and probably only after we do a bit of decorating, and go on holiday in late September (Hong Kong to New Zealand to San Francisco to... Leighton Buzzard) then, THEN we will request your warming services for the new house.
That's the plan, anyway.