I’ve had this song in my head for a while now. Some of you may remember I was kicked out of my home of 8 and a half years so that my landlord could sell it for double what he bought it for 11 years ago. Tomorrow I will be 8 weeks in on my own house purchase in the relative countryside of North Kent.
I am having serious first time buyer wobbles. I don’t really want to leave my familiar leafy South West London surrounds but the rent is so high now and I certainly could never dream of buying in London anymore. The choice was a grotty studio flat in Croydon or a Victorian cottage in Gillingham, Kent.
My little house is lovely, very well maintained with period features, a south facing garden and hard won after it was the fifth property I offered on in four months of looking and by far the best I had seen. I will also be 30 minutes away from my aunt, uncle and nan.
So why the hesitation? By buying in Kent I will be reducing my outgoings whilst still being within commuting distance of London. This was my primary goal if I am to get my assisting career off the ground. On paper the plan seems perfect but why do I already feel like this house is a millstone round my neck shackling me to the 9-5 world that I hate, a job that has begun to make me feel ill and saps me of my energy.
Thoughts of growing my own veg, getting another cat, turning the house into a Farrow & Ball coloured dream home after renting forever and finally being able to buy commercial sized polyboards and blackout blinds to manipulate light in a way I’ve so far not been able to do in rented properties are countered by the fear of the unfamiliar, the burden of being a home owner and the mortgage company forcing me to sell the house 2 years from now should I dare to become a freelancer in the interim years of my fixed rate deal.
For now I shall bounce between fear and excitement as I wait to hear news of exchange and completion dates from my solicitor and make the most of photographing the contents of my housemates organic veg boxes.
Fork and Pixel 