I've had houses before, of course – they just haven't been mine as such. They ranged from grubby to grand, but my new gaff trumps them all in the sense that it's actually insulated. It's also slug-free, non-leaking and devoid of noisy neighbours. So far.
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| Much to my surprise, my first house isn't a Money Pit |
I haven't had much time to think, never mind write – hence the recent blog blackout – with the purchase, then the moving, and a Christmas trip home in-between. My world-class patter has certainly taken a hit with the added weight of responsibility on my broad, muscular shoulders, but I'll soon adjust to the idea that so much of my wealth – and my debt – is invested in the bricks and mortar I now call home.
Besides, I can no longer afford to go anywhere, so I'm sure I'll be posting here more often to report on house-based hilarity, sports-based misery and the latest cat videos on YouTube (note to self: finish that 15,000-word piece on your all-time favourite videogames: "From Alex Kidd to Nathan Drake: Living Vicariously Through Pixels").
After my first two weeks as a cripplingly-indebted first-time owner, I have been able to make some observations worth sharing.
- Master the thermostat and you rule the world. "Is the heat up?" asks Tony. "Oh, yes," I reply, "Two degrees higher than yesterday." Little does she know that I'm conducting experiments as to how low I can set the temperature before frost develops on the carpets.
- Dishwashers are canny. In the last house, ours was off-limits in favour of hand-washing. After all, we never had enough dishes to justify setting the bugger off. But now we're footloose and fancy-free, using the dishwasher whenever and however we please. As long as it's only once every four days.
- Know your area. The street's bank of mailboxes is in the shared playground. Ergo, volunteering to collect the mail means a free go on the slide. I think that's why Tony insists on going every night when we get home from work.
- A living room is only as good as its sofa. Our furniture still hasn't arrived, so our living room is less about relaxing, more about perching uncomfortably and trying to fill the awkward silence.
- Cable TV is dreadful. Don't bother. And if they try to charge you $20 a month for the one channel that shows Premier League football, don't be daft. Unless you really want it. Like I did.
- Don't expect anything to work as it should. Internet radio. The landline. HDMI adapter. Another internet radio. Maintenance fee payments. Address updates. It'll all go wrong. Just accept it and get on with your life.
- Good neighbours become good friends. We've so far exchanged a few sentences with a nice Italian-looking lady. She knocked on the door to tell me I'd left the garage open. I introduced myself. She didn't give her name.
Further wisdom will occur to me as and when, and I'll be sure to share my pearls with you all. The long-term plan is to have my own property show on public access TV, like Carole Smiley, Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen or Craig from Big Brother. After all, if Colin and Justin made it big in Canada, anybody can.
PS. If you'd care to visit, you're more than welcome. We have two spare rooms. No spare beds, like, but the upstairs carpet isn't quite as itchy and abrasive as it looks.
