David has found a house for us. In Tunbridge Wells. Five minutes (five minutes!) walk away from his mother's residential home It's perfect, apparently. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, huge garden/paddock, in our price range "but I reckon the guy will be happy to take a cut", needs little or no work doing on it, has room in the driveway for both cars AND the man's wife is called Joanna so it's fate. Apparently. Oh, and David thinks that it would be better to move there permanently rather than just use it as a weekend place.
You can imagine my delight and joy, on returning from queuing for play off tickets for four hours, to be told this - it was ten minutes before I could formulate words other than "what?" and "huh?".
Whilst out buying an entire pig for his mothers freezer (and half a cow for ours) David said he was hit with a blinding thought: why not move out of London? This was half prompted by the glorious fresh air pouring in through the open car window and the fact that Steve At Work has just decamped his entire family to Sedlescombe and "commutes in, takes just twenty minutes more than it would from Swanley" where they used to live.
I could brain Steve At Work.
And of course, once he drove past The New House (he's taken to calling it this already) he saw the man from the estate agents putting up the For Sale sign and demanded a tour there and then. Amelia is delighted, naturally and is already looking for removal firms.
When I regained the use of my mouth and brain function I pointed out to him (everso calmly I thought) that I would rather have my bits Brazilian waxed every day than move to Tunbridge Wells. He asked me why. I snorted in a very unladylike fashion and switched on the kettle before hitting him between the eyes with the following:
- I don't want to live permanently in Tunbridge Wells
- I don't want to move permanently anywhere
- I don't want to move anywhere near his mother
- I don't care if the "new" bathroom is painted sky blue, I'll go to B&Q tomorrow
- I don't understand where the HELL this has come from
- We can't take Mac out of school now he's settled
- The dogs are London dogs
- I'd miss Ayres too much (sad, but true)
- I would have to change the name of my blog and that's just plain wrong
Okay, so I didn't actually voice the last point out loud but I was thinking it very loudly in my head.
He answered with the following:
- I can see your point
- Okay, also see if they have a tile with a shell motif on it in toning colours
- It's a possibility we can talk about
- Better now he's not even a year in than later on when he's more established
- The dogs love the countryside (then turning to all three hounds and saying "don't oo?!" in a very irritating way)
- Don't be silly, there are bakers in Tunbridge Wells! (Blasphemy!)
- Why are you glaring at me?
We have left it somewhat up in the air. He hasn't actually said any more about it since Saturday evening when I sulked my way through the Eurovision Song Contest (I don't watch it as a rule but I was proving a point) and he pointed out that "that Turkish woman" looked a bit like the current owner of The New House. I glared at him for a full two minutes before he picked up his Dick Francis.
I have, of course, discussed it with my friends and family (all day Sunday spent on the phone and/or MSN Messenger) and their comments/suggestions are listed below:
Bea: "Darling, Tunbridge Wells? Don't do it. It's in Kent."
Saskia: "Convince him it'll be perfect as a weekend place only and that if you move out of London he won't be able to cope without all the pollution and he'll keel over"
Charlie: "You are kidding me? Five minutes from Amelia every day? Does he want to become an orphan?"
Janey: "Hah! Don't tell me mother, she'll be badgering you for your spare room"
Auntie Ivy: "Oooh, can I come and stay? My friend Elsie lives there but I can't stay at hers cos I'm allergic to her Foofy"
Janey, again: "Tell her the house is next to a cattery, she's allergic to cats"
Marjorie Stewart: "You can't move! Frank won't have anyone to flirt with"
Jack Next Door: "Good luck, let me know if you need any help in the garden"
Lydia: "Noooooooooooooooooooo, don't go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Jane Opposite: "Tell him to eff off! Tunbridge Wells? Eff me, is he having a laugh?"
You can see my quandry can't you? Whilst I want to support my husband and entertain all of his little ideas blah, blah, blah I don't actually want to do any of that. Selfish? Yes. I admit it. I'm bloody selfish and all I want to do is revert to my five year old self and scream "Don't Want To!" at the top of my voice until he sees reason.
But I know I have to play the long game (use my feminine wiles, as Marjorie put it this morning) and make him think it's a Terrible Idea whilst making him think that he thought it was a Terrible Idea. If you see what I mean. I'm sorry, I'm rambling now.
Tunbridge Wells Ramblings. No, can't see it to be honest.