Wednesday February 20, 2008
All the windows in the house got cleaned today, inside and out, the last of the bedrooms got its reset, in this case from junk room to respectable second bedroom, and we sat down to make a short list of three estate agents ready for me to call today.
There’s a clean-smelling miasma creeping right through the house, one of tidiness and household cleansers. All familiar stuff.
The time table is to get the agents lined up for valuation visits next week, select just one of them, call him back for photographs and contract formalities, and then instruct him to place the house on the market the day after Graham returns from visiting his mother.
It’s rather like the final stages of a jigsaw, with the last pieces clicking into place one by one. The whole picture will emerge pretty soon, be admired for a while and then broken down once more and placed safely back in its box.
“I shall leave this place entirely without regret,” I said.
“Last time you said that we were moving from Reigate to Copthorne.”
“Do you know, you’re right. And that move was entirely for the better.”
“So shall this one be. Only more so.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
The author, webmaster, and minder of the cat