Could have been nice

Superstition's a funny old thing. I blithely walk under ladders, think nothing of treading on the cracks in the pavement, rarely throw spilt salt over my shoulder and am more than happy to whistle whilst on board ship. But I also unfailingly tap myself on the head and say 'touch wood' when voicing something I don't want to happen, and whilst I read the horrorscopes mostly for their entertainment value, there's a part of me deep inside that wishes some of their good fortune might come my way.

And I don't like to talk about things that are hanging in the balance, just in case Lady Luck decides to give me the finger once more, as she has done so often in the past.

So I kept the latest mad hopeful scheme mostly to myself. I told Mr Stuart, of course, so I can always blame him. And I think I might have mentioned it to Sandra when we met up a few weeks ago, so again the fault may be hers.

You see, the Horse Doctor and I were trying to buy a house. Not any house, mind you. This was a pink house in Llanddewi Brefi, which some people will find tittersome in itself. It was also a house in need of a great deal of renovation - a project into which I could get my teeth firmly stuck, so to speak. I have spent the weeks since our return from the great Canadian Skiing Adventure trying to sort out the finance that would allow us to complete the deal, and this morning I received a phone call from the mortgage broker giving us the go-ahead.

About five minutes after I received a phone call from the estate agents (realtors to you American folks) telling me that someone else had made an offer. And that offer was somewhat higher than I had budgeted.

As I am prone to saying when things don't go my way: bollocks!

I've ranted here before about the insane cost of housing in these parts. At least the council has dropped its ludicrous unitary development plan and looks like it might be prepared to build a few more houses now, but it's still virtually impossible to find anything rural that reflects a local wage. Or even two local wages. Renovating an old place is likely to be the only way we'll get anywhere, but even derelict houses command stupid prices these days. And it's best I don't get started on building plots.

Ah well, back to the drawing board then.

I guess it just wasn't meant to be.