Finally there is something good to report on the house moving front. With the excessive hours I'm having to work to pay for it, and the horrible experience of having to open my door to people who've come to look around a house I don't want to leave--listening to them discuss what they would do with what I have come to think of as my living room, though I know it isn't--I was starting to think it would be one ghastly event after another, ending who knew where?
Today, though, I went to look at what was described as a flat in the Estate Agent literature--this was in the next village along from me, Earls Barton (I know, it sounds like something out of Robin Hood)--and found myself looking around the first floor of an eighteenth century thatched building with a narrow winding staircase as access, thick oak beams in the ceiling and a view out across the village square to the church, which itself is placed on a hill and looks imposing and beautiful. I knew the minute I walked through the door that I wanted it.
Now I have to fill in some paperwork and wait for a credit and reference check. But that should be okay. After that I have one month to arrange for the move and come up with the £££ to finance it, but I'm not going to worry about that at this minute. Get the house, logic tells me, then think about the details. As I wrote today in an email, internet connections are unreliable in shop doorways.