Calm with a little bit of eek

I have astonished myself with the level of calmness I have managed to maintain this week considering what happened the week before. The weather helps of course, London bathed in warm sunshine should never be taken for granted. The garden is blooming, roses and clematis climbing up the fences in glorious colours and the birds are chatting away amongst themselves. The only blemish on chez Knollys idyllic exterior is the badly mowed back lawn thanks to myself and the ancient lawnmower which just couldn’t cope with the small patches of grass therefore leaving shoots of intermittent lengths or pulling them out completely. I did try to level what remained with a pair of kitchen scissors (you can never find shears when you need them) but the eyesight just ain’t what it used to be. Naturally I did this the day before the photographer came to retake outdoor photos for the estate agent’s advertising, the previous having been done back in January, I can only hope he focused on the floral displays and not the massacred lawn.

The house seems to have got some interest. After all the viewings at the end of last week, two couples came back for second viewings. One has already put an insulting offer in but still wanted to come back after the rejection. It’s an odd feeling, seeing your house through a stranger’s eyes. Talk of which walls to move and where to put another bathroom make one feel both excited for the prospective house parents but also a little sad. At some point, hopefully in the not too distant future, this house will belong to someone else and only my memories of the 24 years will remain with me. The wife of couple number one (they did not put the stupid offer in so are first in my mind) asked me if I was emotional about leaving after so long, no was the honest reply. This house needs a new start just as I do and if a few walls need to be pulled down, so be it. This particular couple bought their builder along with them who was a little miffed that they wanted to change so much upstairs, he liked the Edwardian architecture he lamented. I can only pray to the Gods above that one of them puts in a decent offer next week.

All this sudden traffic (masks and distance appropriate) through la maison has weirdly produced a bout of anxiety. More than once in the last seven days, I’ve woken up during the night with the “what the hell am I doing?” worries. I know I will be happy once the dogs and I are ensconced in the French countryside and I’m definitely ready to leave the London suburbs, it’s the bit in between that’s making me second-guess myself. And I don’t know why. I mean, I’m sure I can drive a motorhome down the autoroute and the house is pretty much packed up so what is keeping me awake? Perhaps it is the step into the unknown for the gal who likes to be in control of everything and I’m flying solo. Well, not quite. I do have to pack two decades of house memories into removal boxes, say goodbye to a life at chez knollys and persuade nine woofers to get into an unknown vehicle so I can transport them several hundred miles away into a different country. Nope, nothing to be worried about at all…

“Better not take a dog on the space shuttle, because if he sticks his head out when you’re coming home his face might burn up” (Jack Handy)