I’ve seen the house of my dreams. Like all true love, it’s painful, and I almost feel like throwing up with a combination of terror and excitement. So big, so old, so wonderful - sure there were cracks everywhere, and an outside bathroom and toilet, and probably tens of thousands of dollars of work needing to be done to the place, but love isn’t always influenced by the exterior, is it?

Happily (or unhappily), James loves it too. We both kept looking at each other and saying “wow”, while Miss M listened to Pink on my i-Pod, and seemed unconcerned. So, it’s a building inspection tomorrow, and then some serious scheming to get enough money to make the place ours. I’m hoping the visual flaws may have put a lot of the buyers off - if you had a little baby, I can’t imagine you’d want to hike all the way out to the toilet in the rain if you could find another place to live for around the same price. See, I can talk myself into anything!

There’s one other place we have to look at this afternoon, but I feel like I’ve already made up my mind - and I HATE it! I’m trying not to prejudge, but I HATE it! So, let’s just see what happens, shall we?

Today I’m loving: I could pretend to think about something else, but it’s the house, of course. With a sense of pseudo-detachment, emphasis on the pseudo.