27 Feb 06
The office is set up, the bookcases are filled (is there anything more satisfying than getting all your books out of those imprisoning cardboard boxes and back on the shelf again?), the blinds put up, and despite the back room still pretty much being full of unpacked things, we’re here in our very own house and getting back to normal. Symbolically, they removed the ‘Sold’ sign from the front this morning.
I can’t describe what a relief it is to have that whole house buying experience behind us. Having a place I could call my own is something I was beginning to think wasn’t going to happen—well, not a house in Sydney, at any rate. I’ve been renting for twenty-one years. Let’s not think about how much money has gone into other people’s pockets in that period. But my girl and I somehow managed to finally do it. House prices finally came down a little from the ‘you-have-got-to-be-kidding’ range into the ‘just-affordable’ range, and six months later here we are.
It’s a great spot too. There’s a large shopping centre around the corner; close enough to walk to but far away enough to be out of sight and hearing. There’s a nice big park around the corner. We have rear lane access and a decent-sized back courtyard. And wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, we’re in a cul-de-sac, so no passing car traffic. What a difference that makes.
Now, I can finally stop worrying about whether we might have to move again in six months, or whether I can save enough for a house deposit. All I have to do is make sure there’s enough money in that bank account every two weeks to pay my mortgage. And, at last, I don’t have to wait for real estate agents to fix things that are broken. Every time I fix or improve something here I feel like I’m doing it for us; improving the place we live, and increasing the value of our home.
God, I sound like an ad for a bank. Anyway, if you’re wondering if it’s worth buying a house, I recommend it. The runaround with solicitors and real estate agents and banks is an absolute nightmare (I’ve never felt so at the mercy of luck in my life—buyers have very few rights and caveat emptor is the excuse for every kind of slackness on the part of the seller), but once you come out the other side it’s a great feeling.
Oh, and that’s the floor of our living room in the picture above.
Stuff
16 Feb 06
Still here folks, just moved into our new house/studio, unpacking boxes, getting the ADSL up and running, shifting large heavy objects … back soon!
Site News
03 Feb 06
I may ruffle some feathers here, but I think it is far too easy these days for people to own a dog. There seems to be no restrictions on the kind of person who can walk into a shop and buy one. A potential dog owner should have to undergo a series of rigorous checks.
Let me explain. I live in a pretty crowded inner city area, where houses butt up against each other, or are divided into terraces, and most have pretty small yards. I’m continually amazed at the number of dogs in the area, and even more amazed about how unhappy many of them are. Since I work from home, I hear them barking all day, cooped up in tiny yards, when their owners are at work. Sometimes there’s so many going at once I feel like I’ve been suddenly transported to a corner of Doggy Hell.
There’s a little white lapdog a few houses up that I have even gone to check on, since his barking has been driving me nuts. When I found the house and looked over the back fence, I saw him sitting up against the back glass door of the house, where he yaps at his missing owners all day. I left a polite note in their postbox informing them that their dog seemed very unhappy while they are away, but nothing’s changed.
Next door, there’s an old guy whose tiny square of outdoor space faces our tiny square of outdoor space—but in his, a Jack Russell—a dog specially bred to run and work, mind you—is trapped. In seven months I have never seen this dog taken for a walk, and not only does it bark, but recently it has begun crying and whimpering for hours and hours at a time. This disturbing sound woke me up at 4.15am this morning.
Today I finally got the courage up to talk to its owner (who I might add seems imprisoned himself—he listens to talk-back radio and watches TV all day every day, though I’ve seen him walking about the neighbourhood). He confirmed that it never gets to go for a walk, but that ‘he’s an active little guy’. I pleaded as politely as I could for him to take the dog for a walk, noting he really should do so once a day. He looked at me somewhat nonplussed, as though I was telling him what colour shirts he should wear from now on.
My point is, when you get a dog, no one comes to check how big your yard is, whether you will walk the dog every day, whether it will get enough attention and affection—damn it, whether you will be considerate of your neighbours—nothing. You just slap your money down, register it, and take it home to whatever fate awaits the poor powerless animal.
Doesn’t seem fair. Not on the dog, and not on the non-dog-owning neighbours who have to put up with its yapping all day.
All right, I fully expect a barrage from dog owners here. Go for it.
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