There’s a peculiar sort of quiet that descends just before something daft is about to happen. Like the moment before a dog realises the goose is not playing, or when you sneeze mid-cup-of-tea. That’s where we are now. Not quite homeowners (again), but close enough to have picked out the spot where the compost bin will live. Possibly next to the well. Because of course there’s a well.

We don’t have the keys yet — oh no, that would be far too convenient — but the solicitors are making noises that suggest an ending. Or a beginning. It’s hard to tell with solicitors.

In this strange limbo, we find ourselves in the worst phase of all: the planning stage where nothing is real but everything is urgent. Can we measure that corner for a bookshelf? No. Can we check if the weird bump in the wall is haunted? Also no. Can we confidently plan where the solar array, vertical aquatics system, dog wash station, and underfloor heating zones will go? Absolutely we can. Incorrectly, but with passion.

The Fantasy Cottage (now with 40% more delusion)

There’s a version of Hedera Cottage that lives in our heads, and let me tell you, she’s an absolute bobby dazzler. Warm, dry, insulated like a flask, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and victory. She has working plumbing, walls that meet at corners, and not a single mouse with attitude.

Sadly, that version is likely to dissolve the moment we get the actual keys and realise the floor is being held up by “optimism and one terrified spider.”

We’ve been stalking her via satellite, of course. Zooming in and out of blurry images, squinting at tree shadows and saying helpful things like, “That could be a shed. Or a fridge. Outside.” We’ve also studied every estate agent photo like it’s a Renaissance painting: why is there a cupboard in the ceiling? who puts lino on a door? is that… a doll’s head?

Things We Think We’ll Do On Day One

Here’s a current list of Things the Owner Reckons Will Happen the Day We Get the Keys:

• Pull up the floating floor and “just see what’s under there”
• Remove 60 years of spider ancestry with a Henry Hoover and a prayer
• Mark out every wall with masking tape and dreams
• Do a full energy audit while holding a cup of tea and shivering slightly
• Find the main stopcock, triumphantly
• Lose the main stopcock again, immediately

In reality, we’ll probably spend Day One stood in the middle of the living room holding a bin bag, wondering if we’re allowed to cry yet.

A Fond Farewell to the Estate Agent Floorplan

We’ve spent months trying to make sense of the agent’s floorplan, which seems to have been drafted by someone who’s never seen a ruler but has worked in abstract sculpture. Some walls don’t match reality, some rooms appear to exist only in theory, and we’re fairly sure the “kitchen” was labelled while blindfolded.

So this is our final goodbye to that paper dream. Soon, we’ll be measuring actual walls, discovering actual damp, and inventing new swears for the state of the fuse box.

The Dogs Know

Lexi and Kira are suspicious. They’ve noticed the packing boxes, the tone of voice, the word “van.” They’ve seen this sort of nonsense before. They know that soon they’ll be dragged away from their comfy sofa and asked to explore a strange new land filled with odd smells, scary stairs, and probably pheasants with no sense of personal space.

But it’ll be our odd land. Their odd land. And that’s something.

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So that’s it. The next time we post, we’ll be standing (or possibly kneeling in despair) inside Hedera Cottage herself. The fantasy version may have a bit of a reckoning coming, but we’ll bring tea, tools, and blind optimism.

By this time next week, we’ll be ankle-deep in spiders, rot, or possibly joy — but at least it’ll be ours.