We didn’t get it.

The buyer decided to go with the other property she was considering (That makes it sound simpler than it actually was… Needless to say, there’s a whole story connected to this, and the internet is not the appropriate place for it, but the upshot is that this girl could never actually have afforded our house – as in, it was way, WAY out of her budget –  but decided to string us along for three weeks anyway, pretending that she could. There’s a reason I refer to some people as The Others, and it’s because they’re NOT LIKE US.), which means the house we wanted went to someone else (albeit only as a rental, so there’s still the chance of it coming back on the market at some point), leaving us in the awkward position of having a house for sale which we don’t actually WANT to sell, because there’s no longer a property we’re interested in buying*. Which is… yeah.

Of course, the housing market is slow right now, so there isn’t really an issue with just leaving things as they are and seeing what happens.  If and when we DO get an offer on our place, well, we’ll have a difficult decision to make, but for now I guess we can at least take comfort in the fact that the uncertainty we’ve been living with for the past few weeks is (temporarily, at least) at an end. I’m honestly not joking when I say I haven’t slept properly since this potential buyer came along (I REALLY wish we’d known she couldn’t actually afford it: it would have saved a lot of people a lot of time and energy), and ever since our house went on the market basically every waking second has been consumed with thoughts of if we would sell, and when we would sell, and what we would buy if we did. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for the past few weeks, and only now can I finally exhale.

It’s a sad kind of exhale, though. We really had our hearts set on this house, and we came SO CLOSE to getting it that losing it now is even harder to deal with than it might otherwise have been. And we know there will be other houses. There will (hopefully) be other buyers. One day it’ll happen, and we’ll finally get our house.

It’s just… we would’ve really liked it to have been this one.

* Clarification: I didn’t mean this to imply that we’re taking the house off the market, just that we’re no longer in a hurry to sell, because we don’t have anywhere to buy: we’re definitely not taking it off the market, though!

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[Dress: ASOS | Shoes: Giuseppe Zanotti* | Belt: Primark - all bought last year]

This is what I was wearing the day we started negotiations on the sale of our house.*

Yes, folks, we got an offer. Yay!

But it wasn’t nearly high enough to allow us to move. Boo!

The whole time that the house has been on the market, there’s been only one property we were seriously interested in buying. It’s been pretty nerve-wracking, to be honest. We knew the house we wanted could be sold at any time, but after weeks and weeks of non-stop searching, we hadn’t found  anything else in our price range that we were even vaguely interested in buying: not even one. Basically, we needed an offer on our house ASAP, and it needed to be high enough to allow us to make an offer on the new one. If the house we wanted was sold BEFORE we got the offer we needed… we wouldn’t be able to sell at all. (Or we’d have to sell without having anywhere to move to, which isn’t really an option for us for lots of boring reasons I won’t get into, because,  boring.) Just to make things even more complicated than they were already, the owner of the house we want to buy was also marketing it for rental, which meant that not only was there a chance that someone would come along and buy it while we were waiting to sell ours, someone could also come along and rent it. Which would suck.

We started negotiations with a potential buyer on Tuesday.

The seller of the house we’re interested in agreed to rent it to someone the same day.

If any of this is sounding familiar to you, then yes, you’re right: it’s familiar because this is JUST OUR LUCK. In fact, you may remember this exact set of circumstances from such scenarios as “the first house we found was sold on the same day ours went on the market” or “Nigel waited  years so he could try to sell his house at exactly the same time as us“. Honestly, I’m not in the least bit surprised by it, because it seems that there’s just no other way for things to happen for us. I’ve been predicting all along that we wouldn’t get an offer on our house until the one we wanted to buy was off the market, and oh hey, look, I WAS RIGHT! Again. I may not have much luck with property, but damn, I’m ON FIRE over here with the predictions, seriously!

All is not quite lost, though. Or not yet, anyway. The seller of Potential House #2 has told us he’d much rather sell it than rent it: it’s still possible for him to pull out of the rental, and he’s given us until Friday to get back to him, after which the rental will go ahead, and we’ll lose the house. OUR potential buyer, meanwhile, is trying to decide between our house and another one, and has also said that she’ll give us her decision by Friday, now known in our house as D-Day. Or, actually, let’s call it OMG-Day, yes?

Basically, then, we have 24 hours to sell this house. If we don’t get the offer we need tomorrow (and honestly, I’m not hopeful), we lose the possibility of the only house we were interested in, and will basically be unable to sell ours at all until we find something else.

So, no pressure then. I mean, it’s not like absolutely everything depends on what happens in the next 24 hours, and we’ll lie awake all night talking endlessly over all of the “what ifs”, and getting up early to sit and stare at the phone, waiting for it to ring. Oh no, wait: that IS what’s happening. And we’re already spending most of our time staring at the phone, willing it to ring, and then feeling sick to our stomachs with nerves/excitement any time it does.

Basically, it’s a bit like being in an episode of 24, only with, you know, houses instead of terrorists. And us instead of Keifer Sutherland. If you could all just imagine the sound of a ticking clock at this point, then a 4-way split screen with Terry and I in one box, the potential buyer in another, our seller in the third and, I dunno, let’s put Rubin in the 4th, just for the hell of it. That’s my life right now. I  think we can all be grateful that my Twitter account is still hacked at this point, because I can’t even begin to imagine the hysteria I’d be subjecting everyone to over there.

Any good vibes you have going spare would be really welcome around about now…

(*We took the photos BEFORE the negotiating started, obviously. I mean, I didn’t go, “Oh, we have an offer on the house? Quick, let’s run out and document my outfit!”)

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Well, as you can probably tell from the lack of hysterical blog posts and tweets, Wednesday’s cleaning-fest and raised hopes all turned out to be for nothing. OK, not QUITE for nothing: the house got a REALLY thorough cleaning, and Rubin got a nice walk while we were waiting for the viewing to be over. Oh, and Terry now has a great dinner-party story to tell, about that time he was forced to hide behind the bins in his own back garden when the prospective buyers turned up early, and he wasn’t sure what to do other than to dive outside and hide.  (I had already vacated the house with Rubin by that point, having anticipated just such an event, but Terry wanted to have a quick word with the estate agent before the showing, so he’d stayed behind. I watched from behind a tree as The Others drove up to the house and Terry sneaked out. I actually have no idea why it’s so important to me that they DO NOT SEE ME, EVER but somehow it is…)

So we have a clean house, a happy dog, and I also got a good laugh at the expression on Terry’s face as he made his escape. What we don’t have, though, is an offer on the house, and that’s kind of a bummer, because obviously we can walk the dog and hide in the back garden any time we like, but we can’t move house until someone decides to take this one off our hands first. We also can’t seem to think or talk about anything else, as you’ve probably realised. We spent the entire day yesterday waiting by the phone, jumping every time it rang, feeling crushed every time it turned out be just another recorded message telling us we’d won an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas…it wasn’t much fun, in other words, especially when things had been looking so hopeful.

So, now we’re back to waiting, and hoping someone else will come and take a look at it. On that subject, I was just out of the shower on Wednesday, when there was a knock on the door, and Rubin instantly exploded into frenzied barking. Terry was on the phone to a client at the time, and I couldn’t just let Rubin bark his head off while I answered the door, so I scooped him up (Rubin, I mean, not Terry. If I’d been carrying TERRY, that would definitely have made what was about to transpire a little bit stranger, but honestly, not much…) and rushed downstairs, still in my dressing gown and towel turban, and with Rubin doing his utmost to escape my clutches. I tucked him under one arm, and used the other hand to throw open the door, only to be met with…

…two little girls. Like, less than ten years old, probably.

“Er, excuse me?” one of them said. “I just wondered how much your house is?”

I was a little taken aback by this, to say the least. In all of the scenarios I’ve imagined in which prospective buyers turn up on the doorstep unannounced, I have to say, I’ve never imagined them wearing school uniform. So I stood and stared at these Junior Others, uncomfortably aware that Rubin’s legs were frantically clawing at my dressing gown, which was about to open any second, at which point I would go from simply being The Mad Woman on the street to being The Mad Woman Who Flashes Children. Which would definitely be a downgrade.

“Wow,” I thought, “Either I’m getting REALLY old, or buyers are, like SUPER YOUNG these days!” Then I said the first thing that popped into my head, which just so happened to be the question, “Why, are you interested in buying it?”

Well, the child gave me a really strange look, and honestly, I can’t say I blame her, because there I stood, all wild-eyed and partly-dressed, with a towel on my head and a small, hysterical dog under my arm, asking her if, by any chance, she was thinking of investing in property.

“Actually,” she said, “It’s my mum who’s interested in it, not me. Because I’m ten?”

(She didn’t actually say the last bit. I could tell she thought it, though.)

At that point, thankfully, Terry finished his phonecall and came to my rescue. He took my place at the door, and I slunk off upstairs with Rubin, to spend a few bitter moments wondering if I could possibly have handled the situation any worse than I had. (Conclusion: probably not, but you never know with me…)

I’m guessing that this probably won’t turn out to be the hottest lead on the house, because seriously, who sends their 10-year-old child to negotiate the purchase of their next home, WHO? (Answer: THE OTHERS do, obviously.) Is that a thing now? It is, however, the only lead we have right now, so I’m just going to put it out there that if any other pre-teens are interested in getting their foot on the property ladder, we would be more than happy to show them around.

I promise I will try to wear real clothes this time.

(I also promise that sentence sounded much less creepy in my head…)

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[Jeans c/o 7 for All Mankind // Blazer: Zara // Breton top: Zara kids // Clutch: Dune // Shoes: Primark // Sunglasses: Gucci]

I don’t often wear jeans here on the blog, but I DO actually wear them fairly often in “real life”: in fact, a few years ago, before I got brave enough to start wearing dresses all the time, I wore jeans CONSTANTLY, and it’s really only the fact that I find it so difficult to find pairs I like  that stops me still doing it. Now I come to think of it, if my beloved Dorothy Perkins skinnies hadn’t died, this blog probably wouldn’t exist in its current form, so you can either thank jeans for that fact or curse them for it, depending on how you feel.

These particular jeans were sent to me by 7 for all Mankind, and they’re the ‘Cristen’ skinnies: I picked them mostly because of the mid-rise, which means the waist fits perfectly, unlike low-rise jeans which, without exception, will either give me muffin-top, or will stick out at the back creating a charming “builder’s butt” scenario when I sit down. Man, I hate low-rise jeans. I also liked the fact that the legs are skinny without being legging-like, and although the 32″ inseam means they will obviously have to be hemmed (I’ve just tucked them under for now, because I was impatient to wear them!), that’s par for the course for my short legs, so I’d have been more surprised if it wasn’t the case. These are my second pair of 7s, and once again I was completely enamoured with the soft, stretchy denim, which kind of holds everything in, without making you FEEL like everything’s being held in, if you know what I mean?

Add a Breton top (of which you can never have too many, and don’t let anyone tell you different) and a pair of heels, and you basically have my standard uniform for any time I’m not wearing a dress. Exciting, huh?

*  *  *

In other news, we have someone coming for a second-look at the house tonight, so as soon as I hit publish on this post, I’m off to throw myself into another cleaning frenzy. This would be exciting anyway (the second-viewing, I mean, not the cleaning frenzy. Although I guess it depends what floats your boat…) because let’s face it, you don’t come back for a second look at a house you DON’T like (Do you? As you know, the behaviour of The Others is a mystery to me…), but it’s even more exciting because the person in question told our agent that she’s “really keen”. GULP.

I’d say we’re not getting our hopes up, but honestly, I would be lying, because the hopes are WAY up here, folks, despite our best attempts to batten them down. It’s hard NOT to feel hopeful when the words “really keen” have entered the conversation, isn’t it? The house we’re interested in is still available (which is a miracle in itself, seriously), so if this person were to make a good-enough offer, it would allow us to make an offer on IT… Obviously there are a lot of “ifs” in this scenario, and also a lot of “buts” and “maybes”, and I’m totally getting ahead of myself, because it may all come to nothing, but… keep your fingers crossed for us? If nothing else, at least it would allow me to replace all of the “OMG I AM SELLING MY HOUSE!” posts with “OMG I AM MOVING HOUSE!” ones instead. A change is as good as a rest, you know…

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Since the house has been on the market (Yes, it’s another one of those “I’m selling my house, and I’m going to talk about it forever” posts. Sorry.) we’ve had three sets of potential buyers come to take a look at it.

Now, this was a part of the process I’d been absolutely dreading. I HATED the thought of having to follow The Others around my house, listening to them list all of the things they hate about it, and repeatedly answering the question “But what do you DO with all the SHOOZ?” (Note to self: remember to make up smart comeback to this, so you don’t keep on having to go, “Er, I wear them? On my feet? Am I doing it wrong?”), so I was really pleased when our estate agent told us we didn’t need to be there when they show people around. This works for me: I don’t have to deal with the awkwardness (I have the ability to make even normal situations awkward, so I really hate to think how badly I could screw up a situation that is inherently awkward anyway…), and the prospective buyers don’t have to pretend they’re going to buy our house, just out of politeness. (Which is what I tend to do when I look at houses and the people are in them at the time. If Terry wasn’t there to stop me, I’d probably make an offer on the spot, and end up buying a house I absolutely hated, just because I couldn’t think of a polite way to end the conversation.)

There’s a good side and a bad side to this, though…

(more…)

So, as some of you may know, the initial motivation behind us deciding to move house came last year when, after a 6-year absence, Nigel, the International Man of Mystery Next Door, turned up and announced that he was preparing to put his house up for sale.

We were worried. His house shares a wall with ours, and after years of having no neighbours, we were used to the peace and quiet, and didn’t really fancy having to share “our” space with The Others, who would obviously move in with their thumping baselines and their drum-kits  and make our lives a misery. Even if that didn’t happen, and our new neighbours were model citizens, it was the push we needed  to start thinking about moving, and it was the main catalyst which sent us down the path we’ve been on for the past few weeks, of preparing our house to sell and looking at others.

It was almost exactly a year ago that Nigel re-appeared and told us he’d be putting his house on the market soon. But he didn’t. Oh, he did a ton of work on it, but it didn’t go up for sale and then, last autumn, Nigel abruptly disappeared again: until last week, it had been six months since we’d last seen him. We relaxed a bit. He obviously wasn’t in any hurry to sell, and hopefully by the time he WAS ready to sell, we’d be long gone.

Our ’For Sale’ board went up on Monday.

Nigel’s went up today.

In retrospect, there was really no other possible way this could have panned out. Everyone I’ve told so far has said, “I can’t believe it… but then again, actually I can, because that’s just your luck, isn’t it?”

And yeah, it really is. On the one hand, we guess there’s a good chance that anyone who comes to see his house will decide to take a look at ours too, which will hopefully give us a bit of free advertising. Obviously that works both ways, though, and when there are two identical houses, both listed for exactly the same price, but once is empty and just “dressed” for sale, while the other is full of all our stuff (and, you know, US) I know which one I’d go for. Our house is probably going to be hard to sell anyway, (It’s very much a “first-time buyer” home, and with the economy the way it is, it’s quite difficult for new buyers to get mortgages right now) and given the lack of buyers for houses like ours anyway, we’d really rather not be having to compete with the house next door, and the International Man of Mystery within. (Or without, as the case may be…)

Basically, then, after 6+ years of living peacefully, side-by-side with our international mystery man, the time has come for us to go to war with him instead. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, or, to put it another way: IT’S ON, people. We will fight him on the beaches. We will fight him on the suburban lawns. We will fight him in the driveways, and afterwards he will go and meticulously clear his up, and we’ll probably go and open a bottle of wine, because we’re like that. We are footsoldiers in a suburban war: there can be only one victor, and it kind of has to be us, because God knows, those shoes will have to live SOMEWHERE.

The current plan is that any time we see people coming to view the house next door, Terry will run outside and invite them to take a look at ours, too. I’ll be waiting with a tray of cupcakes, a basket of kittens, and a handful of hair-raising tales about all the bodies under the patio next door. “It’s said that those who step over the threshold never return!” I will cackle dramatically, in the manner of a wise old crone. “Would you like another cupcake?”

Now, who wants to bet that Nigel has only done this so that he can make an offer on the house we’re interested in? Anyone?

[P.S. To answer the question that always comes up when the subject of The House Next Door arises: no, we can't just buy Nigel's house, knock down the walls and turn it into a walk-in wardrobe. For once thing, it's not nearly large enough to be my closet, but for another, we can't afford to buy ANY house unless we sell this one first. The houses we've been looking at aren't in this area, but even if we did want to stay here, we'd still have to sell this house in order to buy N's, and then we'd be in exactly the same position, only we'd be living next door. So we'll just have to curse him, unfortunately: it's the only way...]

Oh, look! It’s a strangely blurry photo of me in front of my shoe wall, in this month’s Company Magazine! You should all rush out to buy it (Or, you know, download the digital version for iPad, like I did, because I was too lazy to walk to the shop…) and then write letters to the editor demanding to see more from the redhead with all the SHOOZ. Because you know you want to.

This photo was used as part of a feature on fashion bloggers and their closets. As you can see from my (slightly paraphrased) quote, I declined to provide a photo of my ACTUAL closet, because, trust me, you do NOT want to see that mess. In fact, that walk-in wardrobe I mentioned is the main reason I want to move house right now, not even joking. Speaking of which, remember that house we liked? The one we totally weren’t getting our hopes up about, except we actually were, to the extent of driving past it every week and picking out furniture? THAT house?

Yeah, someone bought it.

Hey, remember that three-week long frenzy of activity, in which we frantically called our mortgage company, repainted the house and FINALLY got around to repairing the mess on the ceiling, caused by the Watergate incident (and which I’d always known we’d only fix if we were selling up), all with the aim of selling our house fast enough to hopefully be able to make an offer on The One?

Yeah, someone bought it on the very day we finally completed that process. OF COURSE they did.

We were gutted, naturally. On the plus side, though, at least I got to go around for a while going, “I TOLD you this would happen! I KNEW we wouldn’t get it! And I was right! Say I was right!” And everyone had to say I was right, because I totally WAS right. I’m hardly ever right about anything, so, at least I got something out of the whole thing. Apparently I’m on a bit of a roll right now, so if you have any predictions you want made, hit me with them! Magic Eightball Amber, she say outlook not so good…

Once I’d worn out everyone’s patience with my I WAS RIGHT proclamations, I plunged into a pit of despair from which I would emerge periodically to once again comb through the property listings and declare that it was no use, because we would NEVER find another house we liked even half as much as that one, and that what would likely happen now would be that someone would buy our house, but we would have nowhere to move to, so we would be forced to build a makeshift shelter out of old shoe boxes or something.

This went on for about three days, at the end of which we went to see another house, and…

We loved it. Uh-oh. Instantly I switched mode from “We will sell our house and have nowhere to go,” to “We will NEVER sell our house, and will be forced to  live here forever, with my shoe collection gradually expanding to every room in the house, and my clothes one day exploding out of the closets and going running down the streets shouting, “WHY MUST SHE TREAT US LIKE THIS?”

So that’s where we’re at, basically. If we do sell this house, I guarantee we will do it on the very day the one we like is sold to someone else. And if we don’t manage to sell this house (Which is the most likely scenario according to my imaginary Magic Eightball), that other one will stick around forever. There will be other houses, though. At least that’s one thing we can take from the events of this week. And I have absolutely no doubt that I will obsess over them all, until finally we find the one that’s destined to be ours.  Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have some photos of walk-in closets to go and pin…

[Dress and boots: both Zara, circa 2011 // Jacket: La Redoute, 2012 // Giant snow heart: c/o Terry]

So, our house is probably going on the market soon. I’m not sure quite how soon, but … soon. Too soon for my liking, because folks? I am FREAKING THE HELL OUT right now. Like, lying awake at night worrying, and  waking up thinking, “OMG, WHAT ARE WE DOING?” – that kind of freaking out. It’s no fun at all, let me tell you.

Oh, don’t get me wrong: I want to move. I’ve wanted to move for years now. I’ve said it so many times it really doesn’t need to be repeated, but I’m going to do it anyway: this house is small. And cramped. And just generally uncomfortable, in lots of different ways, really. When we bought it, we saw it very much as a “starter home” –  we assumed it would be a decent first step on the property ladder, and that we’d only live in it for a couple of years before moving on. Onwards and upwards.

We didn’t anticipate that Terry would need a kidney transplant, of course. Or that we’d both end up leaving our well-paid jobs and starting our own business because of it. But that was what happened: Terry’s diagnosis came almost exactly a year after we bought the place, and after that, moving home was the last thing we wanted to think about.

Now we’re not just thinking about it: we’re on the brink of actually DOING IT, and as I said I want to move. I’m excited about the big life change we possibly have ahead of us. I’m downright delirious at the prospect of having some much-needed space. I’m looking forward to having our friends over, and not feeling like I have to constantly apologise for the house, or have them all spend the evening rotating in and out of different rooms because if we all tried to sit in the living room we’d probably set a new world record. I’m ready for this. It’s time.

But.

(more…)

[Dress: ASOS | Boots: Topshop 2010 | Gloves: gifted | Faux-fur scarf: eBay]

Well, so much for that whole, “This will be the last time you’ll see these boots, by God!” thing, eh? In fact, I’m seriously considering just changing my tagline to, “Forever wearing those damn Topshop boots, even although we know she has plenty of other shoes,” and be done with it. And of course, I DO have plenty of other shoes, but… it snowed again at the weekend. And, indeed, was snowing when these photos were taken (So that’s NOT a bad case of dandruff, I’m pleased to say, but ickle snowflakes, settling on my head…), so it’s back to the boots. AGAIN. There’s honestly not much I can say about my winter uniform that I haven’t said a million times already now, and there’s also a limit to how much even I can write about my hatred of this awful, endless winter we’re enduring, but unluckily for you, there is NO limit to how much I can write about the ongoing house hunt. And on that subject…

Remember that house I said we were going to see on Friday?

Remember how I said there was very little chance of us actually being able to buy it, so I totally wasn’t going to get attached?

You all knew I was ALREADY attached, didn’t you? Good. Glad we got that out of the way. This is how it’ll probably be from now on, so you may as well just get used to it…

So, we went to see the house on Friday afternoon, accompanied by my parents: my mum is a retired estate agent, so she Knows About These Things, and my dad has the uncanny knack of being able to look at a house and instantly commit every one of its faults to memory, so we figured we could do with the help, especially considering that I, well, kind of lose my mind a bit with this kind of thing.

When we pulled into the driveway, you see, there was a family of Others on their way out, having obviously just completed the house tour. “OMG!” I said, outraged. “There are OTHERS in my house! How DARE they!” And my family all heaved heavy sighs and looked at each other in despair…

The family rejected my plan to charge up to The Others, shouting “Ger orfa mah land, varmints!”, so I was forced to content myself with simply giving them A Look, with which I hoped to convey the sentiment, “We will meet again on the field of the battle, Others: and next time I shall not be so merciful!” (I’m not sure how well that went over, to be honest. The Others didn’t look phased in the slightest, so I think I probably just looked like I had a bad case of gas or something…) And all this before we’d even set foot in the place.

Once we DID get inside… well, I guess everyone has their own way of handling these kind of situations. My family, for instance, all decided to handle it like the grown adults they are. I, on the other hand, decided to handle it like Rubin probably would, if he was human, and buying a house. So while they all walked around wearing serious expressions, asking the right questions and Not Giving Anything Away, I basically bounded in with my tongue hanging out, and proceeded to run around peeing on everything* and shouting things like, “OMG, STAIRS! Those would be SO HANDY for getting to the top floor!” and “WOW, A WASHING MACHINE! We could use it to clean our clothes! Terry, did you see this: FREE WASHING MACHINE!”

I knew I had messed-up on the “not getting attached” thing when, in the hours following the viewing, each member of my family took it in turns to take me aside and say things like, “Look, Amber, you’re going to have to try not to do that thing you do. You know, with the getting-attached?” Then, on Saturday night, they staged an intervention. My dad was Bad Cop. My mum was Good Cop. Terry was Strong, Silent Cop Who Doesn’t Say Much But His Silence Speaks Volumes. Rubin was Rookie Cop, who gets totally over-excited and ends up shooting someone. I’m pretty sure he was on my side, until Bad Cop bribed him with a DentaStix and my only ally deserted me. I THINK the family were making some very valid points during this intervention, but honestly, it’s hard to say, because the whole time they were talking, I was thinking about what colour to paint my new shoe room…

So that’s where we’re at, basically: we’re unlikely to buy that house, but if we did, I would probably just go with white for the shoe room, so the shoes could stand out against it, like they do now. Not that I’ve been thinking about it AT ALL, obviously. Ahem.

The house search continues, then, and in the meantime, we’re working as hard as we can to get our own  house ready to sell. We have a long road ahead of us, people. It’ll be quite a bit longer for me than it will be for Terry, though, because while he’s grimly forging ahead through the forest of Let’s Have the Ceilings Skimmed, I’m taking the scenic route, with frequent detours to Dulux Colour Chart Town and The Valley of the Kitchen Appliances. Fun times, guys, fun times…

* Note to people who always take me literally: I didn’t ACTUALLY pee on everything. Just a couple of things. Hardly anything, really…

P.S. I’m still pimping Bloglovin’, for those of you who used to follow me on Google Reader: you can find me here.

[1. New shoes c/oSpartoo | 2. Dorothy Perkins dress | 3. Gap skimmer jeans | 4.  A birthday gift]

I haven’t forgotten about my 365 Project: I’ve still been diligently posting my photos on Instagram (most of the time) and uploading them to my app, but honestly, while I’m still enjoying the exercise in documenting my life, I haven’t really considered many (or any) of the photos worthy of posting more than once, so they’ve remained Instagram-only. I decided to share these ones today, though, because you see that dress? And those jeans? Those are possibly the last items of clothing I’ll be buying, for a little while at least. (The Lovehearts are just there because they look nice, obviously…)

You see, tomorrow afternoon we’re going to look at a house.

Now, the chances of us actually being able to BUY this house are pretty slim, for a variety of reasons. (So, naturally I’m trying not to get attached.  You know, like I did last time?) The fact that we’ve reached the stage of actually going to view the houses we like, rather than just obsessing over them on the internet, and maybe driving by like stalkers a couple of times a week, however, means that we’re starting to get more serious about our bid to move. In fact, yesterday an estate agent came round to poke round our existing house and give us an idea of what we might be able to sell it for (“I take it your business has something to do with shoes?” he asked when he walked into the office…), so hopefully we will buy A house at some point, if not the one we’re seeing tomorrow.

That means we need to budget. And by “we”, I mean “I”. Terry’s actually pretty good at budgeting, but me? Well, I like the shoes and the dresses. Also the trousers and the sweaters, and OMGTHESKIRTS. For the next few weeks at least, though, I will be turning my back on frivolous things. Well, most of them, anyway. And technically, that shouldn’t be all that difficult. I mean, I have a LOT of clothes already. And I’m extremely lucky in that I have a couple of very generous sponsors who send me shoes every month so at least I know I’ll never go barefoot.  At the same time, though, I have a job which involves me going through a long list of fashion websites every morning and then writing about the things I find on them. Things which very often end up on my wish list, and sometimes make the leap from there to my closet. Uh-oh.

It’s not like I can just go cold-turkey and avoid temptation altogether, then, is what I’m saying. And honestly, I expect I’ll feel a bit like an alcoholic working in a brewery. But it’s a very first-world kind of problem to have, and it’s only a temporary one. And although it’ll probably make my outfit posts duller than usual for a while (There are only so many ways you can “re-mix” a dress, I find. Most of them just involve “wearing it with a different pair of shoes than last time” which means you end up with, well, the same dress, but with different shoes, as opposed to a WHOLE! NEW! LOOK!), it’s a problem I’m very lucky to have, so I hope you’ll bear with me while I show that you that same dress for the 111th time.

Honestly, I’m just glad I managed to find THAT H&M skirt in my size BEFORE this all happened. And, of course, that I spent the winter buying mostly summer stuff…

P.S. I’m sure you all know by now that Google Reader will closing down this June, so if you’re following me there, please consider switching to Bloglovin‘, Facebook or Twitter instead: you wouldn’t want to miss a single second of me whining about my spending ban now, would you?