This time last week, it looked as if the sale of my parents' house was going to go through with no hitches. They say that moving house is one of the most stressful experiences you can go through, after bereavements, losing a job and serious illness, but my Mum was perplexed.
“Don’t know what people are going on about,” she said. “I don’t feel stressed at all.”
That was, of course, the cue for things to start going wrong. They were supposed to exchange today, but the solicitors for the people buying this place have found (in my opinion, created) an issue and are attempting to exploit it as best they can by trying to force my parents to drop the price by £10,000. As I’m sure you can imagine, my parents are not best chuffed with that.
The thing is, Dad spoke with the buyers last night, and discovered that they knew nothing about the ultimata being bandied around by the solicitors. They’re coming over for coffee tomorrow afternoon to discuss the situation.
Even if a solution is found, we’re not out of the woods as there are apparently problems further down the chain too, so it may yet all fall apart.
I’m not sure whether I would prefer to stay here or move. Staying here has the advantage of not having to pack, having much more space, and not having to uproot the cats. Moving has the advantage that we’ll be in a village instead of in the arse end of nowhere, there will be shops, buses, a library, and other conveniences. It’s swings and roundabouts. I’m not sure that my parents know which they would prefer either.
Still, hopefully I’ll be moving on from here within the next few months anyway. Quite how I achieve that is anyone’s guess, but I’m keeping my crossable bits crossed.
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