Viewing

Suspicious damp patches, cracks, dodgy wiring, ancient boilers, rotten window frames, concrete yards you couldn't swing a cat in, missing tiles, gappy laminate floors, stained carpets, holes in walls, interesting Artex, seventies built-in mirrored wardrobes, precipitously steep staircases, large conifers, turquoise/avocado/shell-shaped bathroom suites, bodged this and bodged that.

There was the house where the seller had left an ashtray full of fag butts stinking the place out when they knew someone was coming to look round...

But also the one where, if you stood on tiptoes to look out of the Velux window in the loft, you could see the river (let's ignore the fact that you could also see Widnes)...

Viewing houses is a stark reminder of how people's tastes differ, of how much I value a cosy and welcoming home but not everyone does, of how a little bit of imagination and care can turn a house into a home and how important that is to my emotional health. Also of how important just a little patch of soil is to me.

It wasn't all bad. Although I suppose those people whose repossessed homes I viewed would disagree. But until someone makes me an offer on my place it's all on hold anyway.