Category Archives: Harpenden

The One with the Wine Cellar

October 13, 2011 By in Harpenden Tags: , , , 8 Comments

I’ve spent the last two days house-hunting. It is truly one of the most depressing ways to spend your time – viewing property after property where you just can NOT imagine yourself living, getting achey feet from pounding the streets, going cross-eyed from reading maps, and then feeling that panic start to set in because you know you really, really need to say yes to something soon.

Our search has been focused on two areas – North London and Hertfordshire. We’ll only be renting, so this doesn’t have to be the dream home that we stay in for the rest of our lives, just somewhere that’ll do for starters while DorkyDad settles into his new job and we get to know this part of the country a little better.

On Wednesday I was supposed to have five appointments… but I got phone calls the night before to let me know that two of the places had already been taken. So we were down to three.

The first one was bogging.

The second one was much, much better. Plenty space, in a nice area, clean, neutral colours… Very promising, but I figured I should see all three before coming to a decision.

The third one. Wow. I arrived a little early and decided to have a walk around the area, which was just lovely. Cute little cobbled streets, a pub with a beer garden at the end of the road, a children’s playground two minutes walk away… There was even a ‘New England Avenue’ a few streets over, which I took as a good omen since it’s where DorkyDad’s from.

Given the pretty middle-of-the-road rental range we were looking at, I couldn’t understand why this place hadn’t been snapped up instantly. It was also a bit odd that there was no To Let sign outside, but whatever… I stood there a few minutes and waited for the agent to show up.

‘Well hello,’ she said, when she arrived a few minutes later, and shook my hand. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’

‘Just a few minutes,’ I said, smiling.

We walked up the front steps, and she fiddled with the keys for a couple of minutes before letting me in. ‘Here we go… and here’s a copy of the schedule for you.’

I glanced down.

OFFERS IN THE REGION OF £950,000

Now, had I not been a bit achey and tired, this is where I would have said ‘Oh dear, I think there’s been a bit of a mix-up here!’ But she had already whooshed ahead of me, opening doors, turning on lights, and occasionally throwing questions at me about how long we’d been looking for.

‘Here’s the second of the living rooms. Have you seen anything else you’ve liked yet?’ she asked.

‘Umm, yes,’ I said. ‘One or two. But nothing quite like this.’

‘It’s quite special, isn’t it? Let me show you the wine cellar…’

I spent an excruciating ten minutes with the woman, cursing myself for not saying something right away, admiring a house that is so far beyond our reach that we couldn’t afford to rent the garden shed.

‘One of my colleagues will be in touch later in the week to get your feedback,’ she said, as we were leaving. ‘I hope it’s given you some food for thought.’

Indeed.

The One Where We Move to London

September 11, 2011 By in Family, Harpenden, Scotland Tags: , , , , , 34 Comments

You have no idea how hard it has been to sit on this news until all the relevant contracts have been signed and sealed. I’ve been itching to tell you… sitting on my fingers to stop myself pressing publish.

DorkyDad has accepted an exciting new job with an international charity based in London. I’m incredibly proud of him for taking on such a big challenge, and trying to use the knowledge and experience he has from working in higher education to benefit another sector.

Now that we’ve had a few days to absorb the news, pop the champagne and wave our pompoms, the reality is starting to sink in that Clan Dawkins is moving to Englandshire.

Oh my.

We are doing this completely the wrong way round. Most sane people start off in the city, and then escape to a mid-size town, before ending up in a village to have their family. DorkyDad started off in small-town America and I started off in the Western Isles… we met in Edinburgh… and now, with a 2 year old, we are moving to a city with a population bigger than that of Scotland.

Ach. We have never been a family do to things the ‘right way’.

I am by turns excited and terrified.

I go to sleep with a smile on my face, imagining myself in the London I know from watching Richard Curtis films; entertaining friends in my swanky Notting Hill pad, chatting to famous authors at book launches, and running through the snow in pants and bare feet to kiss my Mr Darcy.

And then I wake up imagining myself in the London of the riotous news footage. I have been scaring myself by looking up crime statistics online. I am starting to think that two mornings of nursery for DorkySon will probably cost more than our mortgage. People are telling me I should be joining school waiting lists now. Right now. Preferably yesterday.

I suspect, and hope, the reality will be somewhere in between. London is a place that extends far beyond what I know from film and television. I am vastly reassured by the emails I’ve had from friends, some of whom have children too, telling me that they love it; that it’s a wonderful city, that I will never be bored and yes they do have parks and green spaces there too, most of which I won’t be mugged in.

To keep the excitement and terror in some kind of equilibrium, I am making trade-offs in my head.

For example… on the downside, we are unlikely to find a flat that will accommodate our massive and beautiful dining table, which was bought for an Edinburgh sized room. But on the upside, we can go for sunny-day picnics with my London-based brother and his girlfriend. On the downside, we’re probably not going to have a big private garden for DorkySon to roam around in. But on the upside, we can spend every weekend wandering round the London Transport Museum (or we can just pay £1.30 and go for a ride on the nearest red bus, which will probably keep him just as happy).

We have so much to learn. Who knew that Barnes and Barnet are two entirely different places? That the Circle Line isn’t actually a circle anymore; that rents are advertised per week instead of per month; and that the same property can be marketed by half a dozen different agents. It’s enough to make a wee Scottish girl’s head spin.

What I would really like, right now, is for someone to hold my hand and sort out all the details. Find us a perfect house, at the perfect price, in the perfect area. Make sure there’s a big old park nearby, a choice of affordable nurseries, some great shops, and a leisurely fifteen-minute walk to DorkyDad’s office. While they’re at it, they could throw in an annual membership to the Tate Modern, and dinner reservations at Nobu for the weekend we move down.

But that’s not going to happen. Richard Curtis didn’t write this life. So I have to put my big girl panties on – top up my Oyster card, keep trawling through the property listings, and start packing my books into boxes. It’s an adventure. I can do adventures; I’m just a bit out of practice.

There is a lot we are going to miss about Edinburgh – enough to warrant its own post in the next week or two – but like Alice in Wonderland, with her oversized limbs poking through the windows of a house and her giant head jammed against the ceiling, we’ve recently been feeling like we have outgrown it. When we stand on our front porch and listen to the wind, whispering in the trees, it’s telling us that it’s time to move on.

So we are. Moving onwards and, hopefully, moving upwards.

Look out London. Here come the Dorkys.

Helpful suggestions for places to live, places to avoid, estates agents to give a wide berth etc are very welcome, either here or across on the DorkyMum Facebook Page. And if anyone has a flat they’d like to lend us for a couple of months, now’s the time to speak up!