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 semi Victorian House 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. Anyway if I get stretched, the children can help.’ It sounded black and white to me but not one to make a decision in haste; 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.
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 semi Victorian House 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. Anyway if I get stretched, the children can help.’ It sounded black and white to me but not one to make a decision in haste; 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.
