Compared to the nail biting stuff connected to lack of sales of my books, the house selling and buying stuff is enough to make one turn in ones grave. Or make one end up in it if it weren't for a loving family and the listening ears of a good few friends. If you're about to embark on this little travel, you need patience, beverages, lots of paper to make notes, (obviously somewhere to put them where they'll be easily seen), and the ability to not panic. Erm, as to certain types of medicinal comforting, I'm lucky. The alcohol will be as a last resort.
I'd put my house up for sale almost two years ago and around Christmas, a year and half later I decided to do without the stress of waiting for the telephone
Early February-ish I had a knock on the door. I recognised the couple. They'd viewed my house last year. They asked if I'd sold. A brief explanation and I directed them to the estate agent. The following week they came to view, during which I was asked about my moving out situation. I said I could rent. As we all know, the spoken word can be so easy. Easy? As if! Not long after they made me an offer. It was definitely one I could refuse. It was abysmally low. As it turns out, that's the way the system works up North. By about another week we'd agreed on a price. I reckoned they were the ones with the smiles on their faces, but, oh, well.
Papers started coming in. Legal, scary stuff. Then I found out that they want to complete the buying before the end of March, because last year the Chancellor had announced a £9k excess for certain types of home buyers. I'd figured, based on my family commitments, that end of May was the perfect evacuation time. I said as much on the documents that I sent back to the solicitors. The buyers reply was to point out that I'd said I could move any time and would rent.
