Technically, when I started drafting this, it was September 27th—meaning our court-ordered grace period from Judge Anwar expired a whole two days prior. Where on earth did the time go? Where did the September grace period go?
Just over a month ago, if you recall, dear reader: September was our Grand Plan B to find temporary rental accommodation, wait for solicitors to sort their shenanigans out, and then move into our new house.
It turns out private landlords aren't exactly knocking over furniture to offer a lease to a 73-year-old pensioner and a 50-year-old low-earning potter, accompanied by two very fluffy cats. We didn't get accepted for a single rental. Rightmove slapped a "LET AGREED" banner over every house on our "Enquired" shortlist. And none of them were agreed to us.
To be completely honest, we did get a call back to meet the farmer/landlord at the nice house in the middle of nowhere (aka Spilsby). But I declined to go. It’s too far. Too far from anywhere. And the thought of meeting a landlord farmer all on my own, burdened with my entire backstory and emotional baggage?!... I just didn’t fancy it.
So the search continued closer to home... options slowly running out and affordable properties becoming as rare as swift conveyancing. But anyway, then real life interjected.
On Hank’s birthday evening, everything stopped.
An email came through from his sister, Hellen. Their dad, Phil, was in end-of-life care. It stopped me dead in my tracks, leaving a quiet, heavy hollow in my heart.
Phil passed away two days later on September 5th at 98 years old. A fine, grand, glorious age. A long life crammed full of hard work, a passion for music, big dreams, a husband, a brother... and a dad. I almost wrote a full blog tribute here to Phil—his Navy days, Dorset roots, and how warmly he welcomed a clueless 19-year-old me into their life. However, I’ve shared those memories over on Instagram, so I’ll leave them there. But I miss him.
Back to the impending homelessness situation. A month ago, we learned we were stuck waiting for the legal beagles to sort out the title defect on our new house. Anecdotal wisdom from friends told me that the process takes approximately 6 to 8 weeks. Coincidentally, my gut told me the bailiffs showing up at our front door was also about 6 to 8 weeks away. A true race against the clock!
If we signed a short-term rental just to wait out the solicitors, we’d barely have unpacked before having to pack right back up again. You can bet your life that the exact second we signed a lease, the Housing Association would pop up saying, "Ready to exchange!"
Then my mental spiral sets in: Move in, one month. A 60-day notice period? Two rents? Would we lose our deposit? Could I actually run my pottery studio from a temporary place? Would the cats go insane if kept indoors? Did I have to get a job? How are we physically moving all our stuff? How can we survive with no income? What about my garden? Are we going to have enough left to buy the house? The Anxiety
Gremlin wasn't just running on a treadmill—he was doing an ultramarathon in neon spandex.So, if not private renting, then what?
Emergency council housing? Absolutely not.
Family? No room at the inn.
Airbnb? Maybe, but ruinously expensive and we’d be moving every few days.
A hotel? Again, super pricey. ChocccyBoy and Little Miss would NOT appreciate being cooped up in a beige, generic Travelodge double room, even with an ensuite and tiny toiletries. Plus, everything we own would be jammed into a 20ft x 8ft metal storage container somewhere in town, leaving us with just the essential clothes on our backs.
Our mortgage is frozen until the deed is fixed. The eviction bailiffs are coming at some unknown point in the near future—who knows when. And we have nowhere to go, along with a stunning, majestic inertia to actually go anywhere.
I couldn't bring myself to write a blog after that. Over these past few weeks, I’ve been gloomy and overthinking to the point of a carb-induced lethargy usually reserved for hibernating bears. It’s funny how external forces can weigh on you like a sack of wet cement. Pushing all my anxiety down into that deep emotional storage box residing in my stomach takes its toll. It wears away at the "You" that’s normally so vivid. I looked physically hunched and lacked the muster to engage with the community I love so dearly. Disconnected.
Meanwhile, I’m constantly fighting the urge to scream as my newly acquired health anxiety is running a full-blown propaganda campaign, warning me that this much stress will undoubtedly reactivate my cancer. And so on and so on... it’s exhausting.
What is the clinical term for this total cognitive shutdown, this foggy brain rot, this paralysis, this quiet malaise, this utter collapse of my normal mental faculties?
Ah, yes: It's House Buyer’s Dread and what I call an absolute circus.
Then, Hank’s sister pulls an absolute blinder in a single email... the golden ticket, the kiss from the frog, the true love fairy story ending that changes everything.
The cosmos has handed us a window... and we must jump through it.
Please feel free to leave comments below. I do read them, I just can't reply to them on Shopify. Thank you for all your support.
9 Kommentare
What was the golden ticket? I’m confused. I’ve since seen your post that you finally get to move into your new house, and that’s great but I think that it much more recent.
I can’t imagine the stress you’ve been under with this mess of everyone else’s making. And the death on top of it all. Hopefully making your delightful creatures is calming enough to balance it out.
Sorry for your loss , it hard to say goodbye. And I still hope you don’t end up in the hedges! Hope good news arrives soon your all of you🤞🤞🤞🤞
Sorry for your loss , it hard to say goodbye. And I still hope you don’t end up in the hedges! Hope good news arrives soon your all of you🤞🤞🤞🤞
I am so sorry for your loss , I really don’t hope you get some good news soon as you really are a beautiful lady inside and out and deserve nothing but happiness x
Oh, honey…i am so sorry for your loss. I really hope there’s a beautiful rainbow appearing for you both soon xx
Oh my gosh, the absolute stress of it all oozes through my screen. I want to reach in and give you a massive hug. I’m looking forward to hearing the happy ending re the email, I breathed a sigh of relief for you. The cosmos owes you one. Kind Regards. H
So sorry about your loss Kath. You should definitely take up writing. Love reading your updates & blogs 🙂
😘😘
Thinking of you both and sorry for your loss of Hank’s Dad. I hope that the news from Hanks sister really helps your housing situation, again if we can help please just ask xx We do still have a big van xx