The builders, who have been next door for 5 unrelenting months, have pretended to leave. They took the scaffolding down as proof. However, this doesn’t stop them entering the house with their ear-piercing, screeching, headache-inducing tools and use the more conventional stairs.
So, on Sunday, armed with maps and lots of pictures of lovely looking cottages in rural locations we headed South. Lamberhurst was our first stop. The Grey decided to adopt a scoring system and gave it 5/10. Not enough life, apparently. Wadhurst was better with 7/10. Or at least we assume it will be when the gas men have finished digging up the roads. Flimwell and Hawkhurst served up an abundance of white weather board and of course the cinema there, previously a school, and showing mainly art house and foreign films is perfect. The Grey was bored with the scoring system by now.
One of the picture postcard cottages had an agent’s board announcing they were open 7 days a week (what recession?) and was in Goudhurst so we hot footed it there. By this time I had got in and out of the car about seventeen times and was feeling weak with 3 point turns and windy country lanes so I insisted we stopped for tea at the Star and Eagle Hotel where you can sit out the back and gaze over the magnificent view.
Mary at the estate agents was cheerful, plump, rosy cheeked and laughed a lot. Nothing like an estate agent. Although she did say properties were flying off the market in no time and no point in looking at anything until we’ve got our HIP in place. Mm..
The Grey asked, ‘What’s a HIP? Can we do it ourselves?’ ‘No darling,’ I explained. ‘It’s some legal thing to do with energy efficiency and Co2 emissions. There’s a score on the bottom of all these pretty cottages.’
We looked at the scores for the first time. Terrible. Old houses don’t score well.
We decided not to worry as most buyers probably don’t look at the scores unless they are members of the Green party or similar.
In the sleepy haze of the evening I heard: ‘Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take charge of the ZIP,’
Why am I worried?
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Tunbridge Wells hens (and a few Sevenoaks) enjoyed festive food at the 'aspirational' boutique hotel, The Brew House last night. Seventeen of us (the table was endlessly long) were were bathed in pink lighting as we sipped Champange. The staff tried to deliver the food we had pre-ordered five days ago but for some unfathamoble reason lists and desires didn't quite match. However, the food when it did arrive was good. Two wore the same dress (Phase 8 25% off dresses) and I was grateful I'd left mine in the wardrobe. We caught up, came up with some great ideas as to how the world would work better and discussed festive plans - travel winning over traditional pursuits. Next meeting 13 January we Rediscover our Sparkle!
