We've Got The Builders In Again...(Part 2)

House move number 8 - the house that good taste forgot!

#StressedHusband taking a break from moving boxes outside the new house.

Leading on from my recent post - Part One (linked here)

…And here we are on to house move number 8. So why did I name this property the house that good taste forgot? Think smokey mirrored ceilings, shiny red tiled floors, black lacquered cabinets and gold paint everywhere…and very disconcerting dungeon like locks on all the upstairs rooms. Oo-er! To further illustrate the vibe of the place, my very un-PC dad nicknamed it ‘the knocking shop.’ 👀

While this new house was being done up, the kids and I lived out of cases (and sometimes, bin bags) in hotels nearby as a short-term solution. The short-term became longer term as John removed the roof and discovered that it was a lot worse and needed much more work than he’d first expected. We decamped from hotels to a short let apartment - the dog, the kids and me, while John worked with his team, through the night to get the house liveable. Sometimes, after working into the early hours, he fell asleep on a mattress among the rubble.

Notice how Henry is side-eyeing me? Probably thinking I’m a loony to be going through yet another renovation

During this time, the kids were navigating exams and I now remember shockingly that at one point they didn’t know which hotel, apartment or home they were coming back to after school. I think this was the closest I came to telling John to shove his hammer up his ar•e before taking the kids and dog and leaving.

As my old swimming coach used to tell me - “when the going gets tough, the tough get going” and I think during this time, I lived by this mantra and did what many mums and women do when faced with extreme stress, and that is to carry on until we get to the other, less bumpy, side.

The house looked fabulous when it was finally finished, but for me, it was tainted. I didn’t like it, even though it was situated perfectly and was the ideal family home. The stress and upheaval that we went through as a family during this period had taken its toll and literally left me shaking with anxiety whenever I saw a cardboard packing box! For a while, anyway.

As the years went by and happy memories were made, I began to soften to the house and finally felt settled. It was a rocky start, but it wound up being the house we lived in the longest of them all! But not forever…

6 years later.

The house with the love island vibes garden and loony landlord

Why did we move again? Well, we had an opportunity to get involved in creating a development which would help us be able to support people close to us, while also being financially beneficial to everyone involved. But to take this on, we had to sell our house and use the equity which was something we’d done before and although risky - the numbers stacked up.

Before we’d agreed to this next project - and before I truly understood how it could work out to be a helpful and profitable course of action, I told John that the only way I’d give up this house overlooking the river, would be to rent another house almost identical with the same view. “Ha!” I thought, “that’s stumped him. Guess we’ll be staying put.” That was until I was putting out the recycling a few days later and I saw my neighbour chatting to a woman I’d never met. Introducing me, neighbour said, “This is Katie (not real name), she’s looking for somebody to rent her house.”

“Oh”, I laughed - you don’t happen to live overlooking the river, do you? We’ll rent it if you do! haha” Neighbour and Katie looked at each other quizzically and neighbour said, “Katie lives 2 doors down. In the white house.”

“The main bedroom has great views of the river” smiled Katie. Well, well, well, hello Mrs Universe - you manifested that one quickly - any chance of the winning lottery ticket too?

We settled into the White House quickly—moving just a few doors down was far less stressful than usual. The house was bigger, so I joked that I might as well keep some boxes packed since we’d probably be moving again soon. Eight months later, that joke wasn’t so funny—our landlord, Katie, announced she was selling the house and moving to Spain, despite promising us at least two years.

That’s when Katie went from friendly to frantic. Suddenly, I was getting texts at all hours asking if the house was “perfect” for estate agent visits. I had to laugh, though, since we soon realised when we moved in that the house was actually all fur coat and no knickers. It might have looked impressive (note Love Island garden vibes, colourful cushions and a few cool prints) but underneath the glitz and glam there was dodgy, peeling paint everywhere, holes in floorboards that had been covered up by rugs and caused many a twisted ankle. And don’t get me started on the electrics - they were a health and safety nightmare with strobe-like lights thanks to faulty wiring. The barbecue she raved about? A greasy, crumbling death trap.

After I’d spent Mother’s Day deep-cleaning to prep for a viewing, Katie texted in bold, upset about dirty dishes in the dishwasher. I’m no expert, but I didn’t think an empty dishwasher was a deal-breaker for buyers?

As we finally drove off on moving day, a guy approached to ask if we needed a gardener. When we said we were leaving, he chuckled, “Did you meet Katie? She’s bonkers!” A fitting end to our short stay.

It hadn’t been all bad though - Katie allowed us to borrow her red kayaks - and thankfully, those were hole-free.

The rental with the drippy fridge and where we said goodbye to our beloved Labrador, Troy and hello to little angel, Cosmo

In Katie’s rush to sell the house, we didn’t have much time to find somewhere else to live. We were still working on the development which was going really well and so decided to carry on renting until it was over. This time there were no properties to rent by the river - I no longer trusted my manifestation skills after it served me up the house in the perfect location (which I’d asked for) but with the caveat of the loony landlord. Not an experience I wished to repeat, we decided on renting a house with a professional management agent rather than private landlord.

We moved instead to the ‘other side’ of Chiswick - some people prefer the Turnham Green side of Chiswick which is buzzier and the youngsters feel it has easier transport links to central London. I’ve always preferred the ‘river side’ of Chiswick called Grove Park, home to beautiful Strand on the Green and the quaint river pubs and walks. Kew and Richmond are a beautiful stroll away and after getting our beautiful Labrador, Troy, 14 years previous, we had many happy years and will never forget memories of him running along the river bank, splashing around and then, brandishing a huge stick, shaking his wet fur over people sitting outside pubs. Of course, I tried (and failed) to stop him and would apologise profusely if he got anyone a little bit wet. More often than not, the shake-ee found it charming - oh, apart from that woman in a business meeting wearing a white linen suit. Sorry!

This house was like an oven in the summer and a fridge in winter but the landlord, although slow to respond to requests like, your fridge is minging, with water dripping everywhere, was not loony, and everything (despite minging fridge) felt quite comfortable. My most vivid memories of our house - our 10th - was a lovely, long, hot summer, the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee (see Insta story below) and the day our gorgeous boy Troy left us to cross the rainbow bridge.

While each move brought its own set of challenges, saying goodbye to our loyal friend Troy was in a league of its own

We knew we couldn’t say goodbye to Troy at the vets and decided to have his final moments at home. It was heartbreakingly sad but so beautiful too - a fitting end of life for one that was so special. John and I and the kidults, took Troy on his final walk to the park where we ambled along slowly, allowing him to go at his own snail-like speed. We took him to the park cafe where he still. managed to catch every piece of sausage that we threw to him despite his cataracts(and of course, he had extras that day.) We took photos of him and constantly kissed and cuddled him tight.

Troy’s last day with my youngest who was 9 when we bought him for her birthday. Besties forever <3

After the park, we lifted Troy into the car and took him to the river for his last walk there. He didn’t splash in the river like years gone by, but sniffed along the bank instead and as I watched his rheumy eyes blink slowly, I know he was, like me, remembering all of those summers of fun in the sun with splashing galore. Walking into our local river pub, we had a couple of beers and talked non-stop about the immense joy and laughter in our lives because of Troy. It was the end of an era.

My boy, Troy.

We got home and pulled the curtains, lit candles and put on some relaxing music so that Troy could be peaceful. We cuddled and kissed and by the way he kept nosing my hands and my face, I knew that he was saying that he had loved his time with us and now he was ready to leave. As he took his final breath (just after he’d swallowed a little cube of his favourite cheese) the grief flooded my body like nothing I’d ever felt. Goodbye our precious boy…

And hello golden angel, Cosmo!

A few months later, a ball of golden fluff and energy came into our lives in such a coincidental way (the story is too long to write here) that even though we had sworn off another dog - I mean, Troy could never be replaced - this perfect little Disney looking Golden Retriever smoothed over the cracks in my heart and filled it with gentle, puppy snuggly love.

House move number 11. Finally, the forever home…or the forever home for now?

Spring 2023 and, having lost our slow, old Troy and faced with a nippy pup with unbridled energy, I started to feel perhaps it was time for a fresh start. We had finished the development project and it had sold and now we were able to buy a home, or carry on renting. I was unsettled and felt a calling deep inside that it was time to set down roots. Buy a house and make it our home - for a long time, if not forever.

Just before John and I left for a trip to Canada, I spotted a little terraced house a 5-minute walk from the river. It was smaller than the homes we’d previously lived in, but it was ‘our’ location and, after all, we were almost empty-nesters so it didn’t need to be that big.

So, here we are a year later, having gone from hotel to apartment, to kind friends and relatives while our renovation took place. It was a home, plenty big for two but during family discussions, we realised our kidults might have left the nest, but they are also looking forward to staying with mum, dad and Cosmo over Christmas - and in between moving between their own homes (I pray they won’t follow in their parents never-still-for-long footsteps!) So, of course, we needed to add a loft and bigger bathroom.

As I sweep up dust, and unpack the boxes again, putting things away in their proper place rather than in a random ‘just-for-now’ area, I can feel a sense of much needed calm descending. It feels uncommon, but very much welcomed.

Could there be a Part 3 to this post? Well, if life has taught me anything, it’s to keep a couple of boxes handy, just in case…