HOME HUNTING PART 8: CHARACTER

"What you need," said my Dad the other day, "is a haunted house. You know, the kind of thing that no-one else would want to buy."

I pointed out that property developers just don't care about that kind of thing and would snaffle up a haunted house way above the asking price if necessary, even if it had been headless ghouls and wailing banshees that had shown them round. I also pointed out that I'm not living in an episode of Scooby Doo.

Funny then that today's viewing was a crumbly old house left empty and sad by someone who, no doubt, had passed away while it fell into disrepair. Emmie set this one up for me, so we both turned up to check it out.

It had character. In fact, it had very little else. We fought our way through the front garden and knocked the door.

I am certain that buildings retain things over the years: the walls soak up memories and reflect the past as you walk between them. That's part of the reason why cathedrals are such special places - the centuries of prayer and worship whisper to you as you click across the stone floors.

In this house, I felt so much joy and love and loneliness and sadness, it was almost heartbreaking. The house seemed to be cracking under the weight of it. Old faded wallpaper hung tattered from the walls, the ceilings were pulling apart and the ancient wooden window frames were splintering into pieces. Outside, the garden was hidden in a forest of brambles and trees, climbing up to the windows and twining around the remains of a shed. The evening sunlight danced through the leaves and dappled the cracked paint of the windowsill as I stood overlooking the jungle.

"This would be a bit of a project," said Emmie, smiling. It would be an all-consuming project. There were holes in the roof, deep lightning-shaped cracks in some of the walls and all kinds of hidden problems I felt certain would not be straightforward or inexpensive. Someone with better skills than me could make this a labour of love and spend years modernising, rewiring, plastering, building and creating an awesome house. But it probably isn't going to be me.

What it did teach me though is that I absolutely love a bit of character. I like places that are kind of quirky or have a story, that have been loved or abandoned - doors that have been slammed and floorboards that once hid secrets. I like the different, odd little places, things that aren't quite like anywhere else, that aren't just thin-walled boxes with windows where you expect them and don't have regulation-style gardens. I'd like to feel whatever story the walls want to whisper to me and figure out the funny little noises that make a house unique. Character is quite important. 

Unfortunately, I can't fix a shelf without desecrating a wall with drill holes or shouting at everyone I know, let alone take on a project that would be worthy of slot on Grand Designs.

"How did you get on today?" asked my Dad. I told him.

"Yes, you're probably right," he sighed, "You need a home, not a building project."

Wise man, my Dad. Although I do get the impression he'd still be in favour of me moving out and into a haunted mansion.