What is it about house hunting that daunts even the stoutest of spirits? Is it the relentless scouring of newspapers and websites to try to find a place that suits? Is it the hopeful trail from place to place, only to be disappointed? Is it the frequent shock on seeing the decors that people choose for their home? Is it the crushing realisation that a lot of work needs doing to make the place half–civilised?

 

But oh! When you step into a house that calls to you, resonates with you, it is as if you and the house breathe as one. You can overlook its weaknesses, both large and small. You see the skeleton, the body, the heart of the house. You feel you know its secrets, the space expands to accommodate you, everything just feels right.  And, even though it belongs to someone else, it instantly feels like its yours.

 

You quietly assess what alterations you would make; how you would change the use of  the rooms, knock down walls, move doors or windows, if necessary…You think of colours and accents and what you would retain and what tear out and replace. You know which fixtures are vital to keep and which the owners would be welcome to take with them. The house feels as if it is inviting you to take ownership of it. 

 

…and then, when your offer is accepted, a whirlwind of agents, bankers, surveyors, lawyers. But until that contract is signed, and the money exchanges hands, you keep everything crossed. You do not breathe. You close your eyes,  you pray…. And when it is done, dusted, signed, sealed, you pick up the keys and walk into a building that is new to you yet feels as if it has sheltered you for a lifetime. You feel warm and toasty, you feel safe, sound,  you feel like you are home.