We have effected ingress

And so, dear reader, your reward for having suffered along with us on our journey is you have caught up: I will transport you to the present. I am writing this in our new house (gasp), completion having taken place yesterday. We are moving in phases, as we can’t leave London full time till Helen finishes her job in the summer; so it’ll be Easter school holiday down here, then reverting to being weekenders until we can move wholesale.

I am drinking a cup of tea made with water boiled on the Aga - I know, I know, I feel like the central character in a 90s chicklit novel. Presumably any second now a bronzed, muscular but also sensitive neighbour will ring at the door offering to moisten my meringues.

My mission was to lead an advance guard (i.e. me) on completion day (yesterday), driving down the A303 in a hired transit van laden with essentials - a couple of chairs, a bed, HDMI and ethernet cables (call me ruralist, but I suspect the corner shop won’t stock them). You will know, having followed the blog thus far, that things haven’t generally gone smoothly along the way, so it was no surprise the van was delivered 90 minutes late, and then I couldn’t fit everything in without dismantling various pieces of furniture, for which I needed my tools, which I had loaded on first, so had to unload most of the van etc etc. But once I got going the traffic was kind, and I started to get into the spirit of the enterprise. I was probably the only white van driver in the country singing along to “Toxic” by Britney Spears (I confess: “All That She Wants” by Ace of Bass was also involved. I’m saving Bad Manners’ “Ne-ne-na-na-na-na-nu-nu” for the return leg). I still can’t make out if Britney is singing “Your toxic gums sticking outward” in the chorus. But I digress.

Rather pleased with my interior design project

Being in a new house on completion day inspires a roller coaster of emotions. There is relief, obviously; there is also anti climax: “I’ve waited over a year for this, why do I feel so deflated?” There is excitement at the dream now being real. There is also, for confirmed Londoners like me, the reality that I have left urban life behind (how many woodlice does one house need?). 

The previous (I love saying that: “previous”) owners had left a typed sheet of useful information, which only had half the information I needed. Half the keys in the key cupboard were labelled, half not, like a contestant challenge on the old game show “You Bet”. Were they for a secret basement room? Was I in an ITV drama? They turned out to be the keys I’d been searching for, for my mother’s annex flat, plus a gas meter cupboard and the wood store (oh yes, we have a wood store. No doubt in the country there are elves who will come and chop wood for us at night, in return for a glass of milk. Or possibly an HDMI cable)

Just needs the extension finishing

But what we don’t have is broadband. I had congratulated myself on contacting the provider in plenty of time to arrange it, only to find that Openreach require ten working days notice to get off their fat backside, lope across the room to the switchboard, and turn our supply on. It’s due to be connected on Monday. On Tuesday, of course, I am supposed to be running a virtual training course for a brand new client. This would not be an issue if we lived in a flat in London, where the wifi signal will reach most areas. But we are now in a proper house in the country, with thick walls and obscure corners. The Previous (hah, that word again) owners had rigged up four wifi stations across the house, connected via ethernet. I found all the cabling dangling from various bedroom ceilings, and wondered what the wife might have to say about this when she arrives. Our marriage frequently hosts a dialogue (yes, let’s say “dialogue”) between the competing demands of technology and aesthetics. I’ll leave you to guess which one wins.

The most important thing to say about our new home, which I touched on in an earlier blog re choosing a house in 15 minutes, is it feels very welcoming. I feel at home here. How does this metaphysical principle work? Is it a quantum physics thing, my particles and the house’s particles aligning? Did the previous owners spend their 20 years pouring love into the walls, which now leaches out like benign radon?  

But for those who are now worried there’ll be no more blogging, you just know it won’t all be smooth sailing. More rural shenanigans next week.