The Search for Dust Jacket Mountain

The first time we saw what was to be our new house was just hours after I had been in a car accident. 

I was sitting in the medical centre between the examinations by the nurse and a doctor. My neck and back where burning and tingling from whiplash. Wobbles was on foot walking from his work office to be by my side. I was waiting when Wobbles arrived. Dazed I said; “We have an appointment at 3.30 to see that house……”

The house search had been long. 

A gentle start to looking about casually became a more serious business when we learnt our rental accommodation at the Lifeslurper Spa Resort was not to have its lease renewed. Week in week out, the drill was the same; continued searches on the large online real estate sites hoping to be first to find that elusive new listing, and weekends spent fighting the crowds at open-house inspections. Less than half an hour to check out the biggest acquisition we would ever make seemed woefully inadequate, and our views of the market steadily changing with increasing anxiety.

More than two years earlier when Wobbles’ had first been requested by his employers to move to New Town we had made hurried visits to look around. Back then we saw houses we then thought were over-priced. There was a glut of properties on the market. There was time and space to negotiate. This time we were seeing similar houses in the same suburbs, only now their asking prices had increased by 20%. In our preferred suburbs anything that we could afford involved one or more sizable compromises; tiny houses needing considerable expansion; good sized homes needing major renovations; houses with gorgeous views in need of demolition. Seems everything had moved forward – except for our budget. A couple of years of IVF and the resulting hunk of consumer debt as the only tangible proof that there had ever been an attempt to have a baby. Everything else had changed. The market, the competition, the affordability, the size and quality of homes had moved well ahead of us – a middle aged couple weary from far too many house moves looking for that permanent home on a first home buyer’s budget. 

There were countless calculations and scenarios. How on one income could we afford an ‘okay for now’ house, let alone our ‘dream forever’ home, while still supporting the Old Town house known as Camp Wobbles? We had already been through that two mortgage deal when we first had merged our lives. Yes, we had both separately resigned ourselves to single living and had both bought low-priced ‘renovator’s dream’ houses in our respective neighbouring towns in an effort to put down some rootes and have a sense of permanency. Lifeslurper Cottage was not suitable for tenants and remained an expensive housing albatross on the first two years of our relationship. Wobbles had never wanted – for good reason – to return to the situation of having two mortgages on properties that even combined could hardly be considered one good house. 

Camp Wobbles was placed on the market. Expectations were high, too high. Early plans were based on feedback from what was later to be shown to not be a reliable agent. The arduous and uncertain process of refinancing Camp Wobbles began. The only way to allow us under our current circumstances to raise a second mortgage meant a new lender, with both properties to act as collateral for the other. This was a painstaking process, and still there was no property to purchase. Could we stretch ourselves that bit extra and find the funds to ensure we never have to move again, or at least not for a long while? Should we be content with our lot and simply find another place to rent? Could we survive the risk of having another bizarre landlord? 

Even house loving Lifeslurper began to grow weary of trying to feel good about houses she knew deeply were just not right for us. Slowly, we began to realise desperation was driving our every move. Each day was becoming another Groundhog Relocation Day; an increasingly agonising wait for calls from mortgage brokers, banks, and real estate agents. Of course the real estate agents we wanted and needed to hear from never called, but the agent acting on behalf of our own bizarre landlords was a constant – making repeated calls to see if we had decided on a date to vacate. 

It was late October. Here house purchases require time, with usually a minimum of 30 days between an offer to purchase being accepted and taking possession. Where a property is currently occupied, that time can easily stretch out to 60, 90 or 120 days. We had only until the first days of January to be out of the Lifeslurper Spa Resort. By now we were even running out of time to find other rental accommodation. Somewhere in the midst of all of this confusion, I began to dismantle the Lifeslurper Spa Resort trying to keep some vague hope that somehow, somewhere, something, anything would go our way.

In blind panic, we had put in an offer on a cheap and tiny house before the finance issues had been sorted out. Before that agent stopped bothering to return our calls I got a serious case of almost buyer’s remorse. The house was tiny, and space was a serious issue for us in our living circumstances. The house needed work, and still we were being forced to offer a purchase price at the high end of its price range. My secret plan for a while had been to try and find a creative solution to our search, to go outside of our search area of three geographically connected suburbs. Countless surrounding beach towns and outlying rural hamlets were already well exploited and their prices reflected their popularity. Wobbles wanted a view and needed plenty of space, and this Lifeslurper just wanted this constant housing limbo that has in one way or another (like the baby search) been present for our entire relationship to end. Every house we had viewed in our preferred suburbs were increasingly without views, and smaller in size as we began to lower our own purchase price. The strain of once again servicing two mortgages meant we had voluntarily reduced the amount we wanted to purchase for. With that went any real chance of snapping up any bargains in our preferred suburbs, and we did not have the luxury of time to wait for countless upcoming auctions.

In my wider search a particular house had caught my eye. I returned online to view it repeatedly. It was unusual, and the photographs in the advertisements seemed to be hiding some things. The fear that there was a lot wrong with the place caused me to ignore the house repeatedly. Wobbles’ thinking was set on his current favourite suburbs, this other suburb was getting him further away from his work place, and away from the views he coveted. The house was double storey, and currently divided into two units or flats. There was an external staircase, yet no mention of internal stairs. The work required would be substantial. I mentioned the house to Wobbles a few times. It was still on the market after a few weeks – another sign that there was something ‘wrong’ with the place.

Any property that in anyway resembled a ‘good buy’ disappeared from the market the same day it was listed. Some were never advertised in the first place. The search for a house had long become like anything we attempted as a joint project – soul destroying. Wobbles was not to keen on viewing endless houses, and I needed to micro-manage the information to simplify things and reduce the amount of time Wobbles was kept away from work. As time continued to run out, the search had to move up a notch with Wobbles consenting to attending inspections during weekdays. 

An email to the selling agent and I was assured the house in question did have an internal staircase that was merely boarded over. Yes, it was still on the market but several offers had been made. The agent would be showing a number of interested parties through on Thursday and we were welcome to attend.

Moments before another driver ploughed into the back of me as I sat at a complete stop at a major intersection I can remember feeling weary and no longer caring where I next lived or how I got there. While I hoped the viewing that afternoon would bring us some hope, I feared like so much of the experience so far it would leave to even greater reduction of expectations.

Would we ever find a home? A home for ourselves? A home without interfering landlords?

Wobbles drove us out of the medical centre. The car was drivable, but not roadworthy. I was nauseous, shocked and feeling confused. Auto-pilot instincts had taken over. We needed to find a place to live, and nothing could get in the way of that. 

To be continued…..