“Of course the other problem we’ve got is that that house is full of stuff and there’s no movement to get it cleared or anything,” said the Estate Agent at 70 miles per hour, referring to the house that our vendors are buying.
I interrupted.
“Look, I appreciate that they don’t want to start clearing out until they’ve exchanged, it’s just that we emptied our flat in three and a half days and we’ve been homeless for twelve weeks…”
My voice was strained like the final tea leaves of the day. There was a soggy tinge to it too: fed up, annoyed about the injustice of it all, squashed like a wet teabag.
I can’t handle much more of this. I feel as though we budgeted for six weeks in our minds, had a reserve for maybe another four or five, and now we’re just at the end of our resources.
One piece of advice given to us has been to push the nuclear button, and tell them we’re pulling out unless we exchange by a certain date. Given house prices right now, that would be devastating for everyone, and potentially us. But I don’t want to play that last card in the deck just yet - I still feel as though we risk losing the stand-off, and I would like to be a man of my word. Integrity is very important - it couldn’t be a bluff. And this game is full of bluff and spin already.
Others tell us we’ll “get there” - which is true, we will. I just wonder at what cost to my mental health, and also when. Sammy is desperate to get in before Christmas; I am just feeling rough about the whole journey and want it to be over as soon as possible. I just want to go home now please.
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