Fussy Mama...

It couldn't be modern.
It had to have a big garden.
Had to have three bedrooms or more.
Had to be in a nice area.
Had to be in walking distance of the town.
Had to have parking.
Had to have a fairly good sized kitchen.
Had to have a nice, open plan layout.

I wasn't asking for too much. Was I?

First house we saw...gorgeous sprawling 17th century stone house, shame about the lethal garden that a toddler could potentiall kill themselves accessing (the steps were like a miniature mountain range in themselves).
Second house - great kitchen diner, top of the range appliances, very posh, shame about the parking. Or lack of. Because yes, there was none. (there was a carpark fifteen minutes walk away though, the estate agent helpfully told us).
Third house - no. Just no.
Fourth house- My word, the damp was so prevalent that the air was practically wringing wet with droplets. Again, no. And the estate telling us to 'look at the super-sized shed' in the garden wasn't going to win us around either.

It was an ongoing excursion of touring round unsuitable property after unsuitable property. We had to face it, whgat our money bought us in Exeter, was not going to buy us the same here. Not by a long shot.

Then, the following week, we went to look round 'The Project'. I use capital letters, as that was how the estate agent introduced it on the phone, with that level of gravitas and solemnity. The Project only had a downstairs bathroom. The Project had not been updated inside since the 60s. (1860s that is). The Project, in short, was a complete dump. But it was in the right area. It was semi detatched. It had a big garden. I had to see it.

From the outside - perfection achieved. Cue the oohs and ahhs over the red brick (I know, I'm obsessed), the wonderful bay window, the sheer, sturdy squatness of its aspect. I liked it already.