About the same time as the momentous mealtime, Nick returned from a project in Lewes one day, enthusiastic about its charms. I accompanied him on his next visit, and was immediately enraptured as I wandered down the High Street. Lewes’s unique character in its jumble of attractive architecture and individual shops convinced me that it had all that we were looking for in a town. If we found a property in a nearby village, I would be able to escape the confinements of row upon row of cramped terrace houses and swap it for green, open spaces.
Once the decision to move had been made I attacked the problem of finding a home with vigour. Changing lifestyles ultimately meant that I could also change jobs. A large, Victorian semi already set up for Bed and Breakfast popped onto the screen. I’m sociable. I’m organised. I’m willing to work hard. What if we pushed the boat right out and saddled ourselves with a massive mortgage but ran a business at the same time that should help us pay it off? It was one way of getting the kind of property that dreams are made of and, living in a beautiful, if touristy, Sussex village. I chose my moment to run the idea past Nick.
‘You can still do what you’re doing but I could give up teaching and run the B & B,’ I argued. ‘Anytime I have left over I could concentrate on my writing. If I get stretched, the children can help.’ Mad idea I know but...it sounded black and white to me. Knowing I'd have to work harder to convince Nick, I not only bought a book about it but I spoke to a friend with her own B & B about what was really like.
‘On the good side,’ she offered not too enthusiastically. ‘We would never have such a beautiful home in such a wonderful part of the country if we didn’t let out the rooms. But it is such a restriction on your life and do you really want strangers tramping through your home?’ Her parting words of ‘I can’t make the decision for you but I would think carefully about how you want your life to be,’ should have set the alarm bells ringing, but I became momentarily deaf.
I was hooked. It seemed the ideal situation. I would have an aga to keep the locally produced sausages warm whilst I rushed the children to school on the mornings Nick had a meeting. Surely people wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes whilst I did the school run? If everything else failed I could hire help. Three buses a day into Brighton would mean we could go green and get out our obsolete bikes, I reasoned with the children, getting a ‘whatever’ in response – all the time secretly knowing they were on-to -me and knew I’d be adding ‘chauffeur’ to my job description.
With only four months left before child #1 had to start her courses at College (a testimony to my faith that I would move to Lewes that we enrolled her in the first place) my dreams of moving from London’s suburbs to a life in the country were beginning to fade.
Our idea of running a B & B had failed -abysmally. The Gods had obviously seen my cooking skills and decided to save the masses from my attempts at full English breakfast, regardless of my championing local produce. After finding the perfect B & B property we made an offer and were at the discussing 'fixtures and fittings' stage when the vendor pulled out. Not to be discouraged in my attempt to spend my days changing beds and folding my towels into thirds so I could tell if they had been used, I then pursued two more properties with B & B possibilities, compromising on location and budget with a capital C and B. With gazumping fast becoming part of my new vocabulary, I started to take the hint and re-visited our original brief: somewhere near Lewes, needs renovating, affordable so no B& B required. (Why, oh, why did I ever think I wanted to run a B& B in the first place - I blame it on my hormones).
I’m convinced that our house chose us. I had not reckoned on fate. Not that I believe in it, of course, but shortly after giving up my idea of being a B & B expert our current house popped onto the screen and into the equation and we found ourselves with the proud owners of a typical, Sussex style, white, timber clad house, just waiting for a loving hand to bring it into the 21st century.
Seven weeks later, on moving day, we had to wait three hours for our two cats to appear. Sitting outside our old home watching the new occupants move their contents in was one of the negatives of that day, along with dropping a packet of turmeric all along the hallway carpet just after the vacuum cleaner was packed into the removal lorry. It took our neighbour who spotted us sitting miserably waiting in the car, then offering us a pot of tea and a family pack of chocolate cookies, to console us. On the upside, when we arrived in Sussex, our new, next door neighbours had taken in a delivery of flowers for us and came over to introduce themselves with more of their own.
That evening, after making up the beds and finding our toothbrushes, (the removal lorries had trouble accessing the drive and had driven away with half the contents of our home in the back - I was too tired to check eBay to make sure they weren’t selling my china) we walked across the road to the local pub where it was an unusual sensation to venture inside and find a table readily available, rather than elbowing our way through a crowd. As the sun set, I stood at the end of the drive and looked at the lights twinkling from the children’s bedrooms, a mixture of excitement and apprehension overwhelmed me; was this really a new beginning or was it all going to be just a huge mistake?
Teresa x
Once the decision to move had been made I attacked the problem of finding a home with vigour. Changing lifestyles ultimately meant that I could also change jobs. A large, Victorian semi already set up for Bed and Breakfast popped onto the screen. I’m sociable. I’m organised. I’m willing to work hard. What if we pushed the boat right out and saddled ourselves with a massive mortgage but ran a business at the same time that should help us pay it off? It was one way of getting the kind of property that dreams are made of and, living in a beautiful, if touristy, Sussex village. I chose my moment to run the idea past Nick.
‘You can still do what you’re doing but I could give up teaching and run the B & B,’ I argued. ‘Anytime I have left over I could concentrate on my writing. If I get stretched, the children can help.’ Mad idea I know but...it sounded black and white to me. Knowing I'd have to work harder to convince Nick, I not only bought a book about it but I spoke to a friend with her own B & B about what was really like.
‘On the good side,’ she offered not too enthusiastically. ‘We would never have such a beautiful home in such a wonderful part of the country if we didn’t let out the rooms. But it is such a restriction on your life and do you really want strangers tramping through your home?’ Her parting words of ‘I can’t make the decision for you but I would think carefully about how you want your life to be,’ should have set the alarm bells ringing, but I became momentarily deaf.
I was hooked. It seemed the ideal situation. I would have an aga to keep the locally produced sausages warm whilst I rushed the children to school on the mornings Nick had a meeting. Surely people wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes whilst I did the school run? If everything else failed I could hire help. Three buses a day into Brighton would mean we could go green and get out our obsolete bikes, I reasoned with the children, getting a ‘whatever’ in response – all the time secretly knowing they were on-to -me and knew I’d be adding ‘chauffeur’ to my job description.
With only four months left before child #1 had to start her courses at College (a testimony to my faith that I would move to Lewes that we enrolled her in the first place) my dreams of moving from London’s suburbs to a life in the country were beginning to fade.
Our idea of running a B & B had failed -abysmally. The Gods had obviously seen my cooking skills and decided to save the masses from my attempts at full English breakfast, regardless of my championing local produce. After finding the perfect B & B property we made an offer and were at the discussing 'fixtures and fittings' stage when the vendor pulled out. Not to be discouraged in my attempt to spend my days changing beds and folding my towels into thirds so I could tell if they had been used, I then pursued two more properties with B & B possibilities, compromising on location and budget with a capital C and B. With gazumping fast becoming part of my new vocabulary, I started to take the hint and re-visited our original brief: somewhere near Lewes, needs renovating, affordable so no B& B required. (Why, oh, why did I ever think I wanted to run a B& B in the first place - I blame it on my hormones).
I’m convinced that our house chose us. I had not reckoned on fate. Not that I believe in it, of course, but shortly after giving up my idea of being a B & B expert our current house popped onto the screen and into the equation and we found ourselves with the proud owners of a typical, Sussex style, white, timber clad house, just waiting for a loving hand to bring it into the 21st century.
Seven weeks later, on moving day, we had to wait three hours for our two cats to appear. Sitting outside our old home watching the new occupants move their contents in was one of the negatives of that day, along with dropping a packet of turmeric all along the hallway carpet just after the vacuum cleaner was packed into the removal lorry. It took our neighbour who spotted us sitting miserably waiting in the car, then offering us a pot of tea and a family pack of chocolate cookies, to console us. On the upside, when we arrived in Sussex, our new, next door neighbours had taken in a delivery of flowers for us and came over to introduce themselves with more of their own.
That evening, after making up the beds and finding our toothbrushes, (the removal lorries had trouble accessing the drive and had driven away with half the contents of our home in the back - I was too tired to check eBay to make sure they weren’t selling my china) we walked across the road to the local pub where it was an unusual sensation to venture inside and find a table readily available, rather than elbowing our way through a crowd. As the sun set, I stood at the end of the drive and looked at the lights twinkling from the children’s bedrooms, a mixture of excitement and apprehension overwhelmed me; was this really a new beginning or was it all going to be just a huge mistake?
Teresa x
