Thursday, August 31, 2006

Houseowner requires cheap tarts for quick passionate exchange ...

We saw a house ....

We demurred through batting eyelids saying a faint 'no' because we though the garden was too small to satisfy our needs.

We went on a second date.

We made a cheap nasty cheeky offer knowing the heart of the house owner had been bruised before because of the infidelity of others.

The owner liked the look of our gib (and our money)

Exchange in six weeks. We like short engagements in our houses.


(vaguely and quite perceivably happy)

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Who do I have to kill in order to get a house around here?

I left this a few weeks to write about in order to avoid words which would have me kicked off blogspot.

After a while, the words I feel like now using are: the f word, the excretions word, the empowered woman word (cos hey, we own it after all!), the damnation word, the testes word and the 'there just ain't a pejorative term bad enough to use here' word

We are in the process of buying a house. At least we were. Now we are looking again.

I've come to the conclusion houses are like men. You see one, you do a bit of an explore or two. You click (or at least mentally position your king size in its master bedroom) and you fall. You dream about the damm house. You (who NEVER buys magazines as a point of pride) invests £18 in a pile of interior design magazines. You move walls (again in your mind) and etch out a long term plan for "improvement". Hell there are humans you have invested less time and planning into.

So you make a tentative offer. Like a woman wearing a polo-neck and glasses on a first date (just in case he turns out to be an 'ugg' in looks or personality) you keep it as low-key as possible in order to test the water.

Funnily enough, your test gets a response. Your proposal for a second "date" is given a lukewarm responsee. The message is clear; "up the ante and interest will be increased". So you get out your best Betty Jackson wrap dress, your high-heeled strapped shoes and your 40 denier tights ..... oh sorry wrong story. Anyhow, back to the house, you up the offer 10K because that is what the worm-breathed estate agent told you they would accept and you sit back. The mental wall-knocking continues, you even go as far as a colour scheme for the master bedroom. Oh, and the bathroom is so getting a six foot metal bath.

And the Fatherless owners turn around and reject your offer even though the puppy-buggering estate agent told you would accept it. The message back is that they would accept 10K on top of your latest offer.

So the paranoia begins (all 4 mins of it)
Did they really give the estate agent the initial acceptable figure?
If so, what the hell happened in the meantime?
Is this a figure the estate agent made up because he thought he could talk the house owners into it?
*Something else*

Ah let them go to blazes.

So like a tentative elderly female scorned divorcee with the power of "f-em" and fury behind them, we are back on the dating (house-hunting) scene again.

We saw somewhere today. We clicked. We are going on a second date. Thursday 10.30am. Wish us luck. Only more more thing to add ... a king sized bed would fit easily into the master bedroom. I think we have started having plans for that room already ....

We are such tarts!

Sunday, August 27, 2006

Definition of a good parent ....

A friend of ours and her husband decided to join in with the rest of the raving lunatics in the non-too exclusive club of parenthood. Things went well once the difficulties of the birth had been attended to. For the curious, this was a quick onslaught of the second stage, this meant an unattended birth holding onto the en-suite sink taps screaming ones head off in-between cursing the mid-wife who was stuck in traffic.

This was all survived and there was the usual feeding, puking, smiling, pooing, gurgling, crying and giggling.

However one day Mummy DARED (dared I tell you!) to leave baby alone with Daddy. Furthermore she ordered Father and offspring out of the house so she could attend to the small things like finding and applying her hairbrush to the "designer knot" look which had taken hold of her hair.

Father left the house, fearful at first and then thinking "hey this is easy". Confidence grew, Father smiled, buggy-bound baby smiled back and returned to the task of inserting his big toe in his mouth. God was in heaven and the angels were smiling until .... SOMETHING TRUELY GASTLY HAPPENED (dum, dum, doooooom)

A huge, malignant, deeply green and HIGHLY NOTICABLE snail shaped bogey crept down the under-nose portion of 'beloveds' face. Daddy had no hanky about him. What to do? Women with buggies of their own were already pointing from 20ft away!! So he gritted his teeth and pulled it out between thumb and forefinger. Snail turned into snake but Daddy held on for dear life. The end had to be in sight and soon it was. Daddy flicked his dubious trophy away and now, feeling brave and accomplished actually checked the other nostril for more nasties ... "Hah", he thought "I can cope without Mummy AND hankies, I am iron John, superman, supernanny and THE DADDY all rolled into one. Hear ME roar!!"

Not only did he accomplish a victory over a sticky snot when the odds were stacked against him but he also told people about it, lots of them. The man who had never changed a nappy changed them all. Anyone (within the constraints of biology or the whims of the adoption system) can become parents -it is the little things that make us GOOD parents.