Back in April, when my blog was technologically challenged, we celebrated ten years in our new house. God, I love this house and I almost daily give thanks that we were lucky enough to get it. We bought when the property market was at a low point (not through cunning but because we were desperate to get out of our tiny house with three small children) and we could not have afforded to buy it at any other time before or since. I remember the day we saw it. We had seen so many houses. We had a spread sheet and everything. I remember standing in the utility room (sadly largely unchanged – needs work) with Mr. Waffle and the two of us just beaming at each other because we knew it was the perfect house for us.
As I am shallow – or maybe human? – my house has always been really important to me. Thorough readers with very long memories will recall that at the age of 11, I had to leave the house I most loved – a very large square four floor house with a large garden with half a dozen apple trees – think of it as the pre-lapsarian years. I have had some good houses since then, I loved all the places I lived in Brussels and I eventually grew to love the Edwardian semi-detatched house my parents moved us into when we left paradise but this is undoubtedly the best place I have lived in my adult life. I feel so pleased that my children grew up in such a nice place. I will NEVER move out. It is perfect in every way. Even though it doesn’t have a side passage.
