It was a grey morning but enlivened by the car lights as Mumbles got ready for work, and, haha, I wasn’t one of those facing a day of work! I walked the dogs in a muddy Underhill Park (it must have been an elegant facility ‘back in the day’, whenever that was) and then prepared for a day of house viewings. Anything within our budget was on the ‘other side’ or away from the Gower peninsula. Gower has always been relatively expensive, especially on the south side. I vowed to be optimistic, open-minded and pragmatic and the first viewing was of a little semi on a newish development where previously there’d been a steel works providing work for so many of the old, now crumbling, community. It's the sort of estate where you feel it might be wise to scatter breadcrumbs behind you to retrace your steps, being such a warren of narrow streets. Mind you, a local Greggs had already provided for that, as had Aldi and other purveyors of potential street litter. I thought about the jumble of Mumbles housing and wondered why it is more charming than this new ‘village’. Is it just because of its proximity to the sea, or its connection with Catherine Zeta Jones (as it was for my dear, now departed glam aunt)?
We stepped into the ‘hallway’ (ahem) and manoeuvred around each other in order to get a feel for any merits that the place might have. The door to the minuscule kitchen had been removed and it was easy to see why. Anyone working in that space would have to do so with the door closed behind them encroaching as it inevitably would on the space needed to reach anything on the right hand side where the sink was located. Whose brilliant architectural planning idea was that??The house benefitted from a downstairs loo, one of the things on my list of essentials in any property, as well as an attic bedroom with an ensuite shower room. Other than that (oh, it did have space for 2, maybe 3 small cars in a narrow driveway) it was hard to see how anyone could live comfortably in such a house unless they were dolls. It would be a misnomer to describe the outside space as a garden; a ‘low maintenance garden’ the agent described it as, given that it was just a rectangular patch of grey gravel with a couple of sad pots dotted about at jaunty angles.
The next house was more interesting, though it didn't fit our brief at all. An early 1900’s property, the elegant entrance hall and spacious rooms wetted our appetite for a project we had vowed never to enter into again. Being sound on the whole, a few renovations and alterations would make it a fine property. The owner would have to take a hit on his asking price and hadn't done himself any favours in showing the place with a big can of bitumen sat on the floor with a roller and clear signs that this had been used on some of the walls and then painted over! Charmed though I was with the house and its possibilities, I was the one who told the agent that it wasn't for us. Gareth, however, wanted to inspect it further and when we came away his excitement about what he could do to the place was infectious. His experience with the properties we have renovated meant that it wasn't too great a task, until I reminded him later that he is no longer fit enough to take on such project. In any case, it would be another stall on our plans to get some travel time in before we are too infirm, too old or just too tired to bother.
The next house was another estate house, a 1970’s - 1980’s build. Again, a warren but slightly more spaciously laid out than the first house we'd seen (people are expected to take up less and less space these days, clearly). It benefitted from a garage but our first impression was that it looked very tired. The agent asked us to remove our shoes before entering. I don't know what the point of that was because I'm sure my socks were dirtier afterwards than my boots had been when I took them off! The smell of dog was overwhelming (please tell me if my place ever smells that bad with our dogs), and the house had little to commend itself - none of the conveniences that are clearly now desirable and squeezed into even the tiniest homes, like a downstairs loo and an ensuite. Apart from the smell of dog and the tired decor, the house reminded me of the first home my husband (now ex) and I bought, aided by his father who gave us money for a deposit. That house, in 1977, seemed expensive at £11,000 and in the 80’s we were paying 15% interest on our mortgage. I wondered about the circumstances of the family who lived in this smelly, tired home. Where were they hoping to go from here? Had they been here since it was first built and become blind to how much tlc it needed? Once more I was finding myself empathising with imagined misfortunes of others. It's entirely possible, of course, that they are in fact having a ball, living it up and having all of the adventures I want to have, with no feelings of compulsion to keep their house spic and span. My imaginations say more about me, then, I suppose.
The fourth house didn't give me any reason at all to worry about the circumstances of the inhabitants. Arriving at an immaculately presented little house on another, but smaller, estate, the owners were there to greet us and happy to answer any questions we might have about their clearly well cared for home. Older than us, they were selling up to be closer to their daughter in Guildford. They had previously lived in Spain but we didn't discover how they had come to live in this property - a bit of a change no doubt! Again small and with the advantages of a downstairs loo and an ensuite, this house was much better designed and very attractive. Gareth later remarked that if we hadn't met the owners or known that they were in their seventies, we'd have assumed that the house was inhabited by a very stylish and quite affluent young couple. There was nothing about the house that could be faulted (except its proximity to a busy main road, the noise from which was quite intrusive) but it was not for us. They could see that we were impressed and I probably got their hopes up for a sale when I said “Right, we're moving in!” Naughty of me, I know, when it isn't true. The house was definitely worth what they were asking, so we wouldn't be bargaining them down, and in any case it was so pristine that the thought of renting it out to people who might care much less was not a thought to be entertained.
Later, we dropped by Owen and Jess’s. Like most young families their lives are quite hectic and spectred by the pressures of paying mortgages and how to create a pension. With student loans to pay as well it's hard to see how some are able to sleep at night. I'm tail end of the baby boom, and haven't had it as good as so many of older ones, but I did have a free University education, work was easy to get and though I am a WASPI woman, I will draw my state pension before I am 65. The years raising a family are precious years but they are also extremely challenging in any generation. Having been there and failed to keep things together, I inevitably worry about my offspring and how they will chart their way through choppy waters, especially if they head up any creeks without a paddle. Those days are now behind me and I have the privilege of a modest pension from my 20 years in further education, and the prospect of buying some sort of property without a mortgage. There may be minimal equity to pass on to my children and grandchildren, but who knows; fortunes can change (where’s the nearest lottery kiosk?).
Ok, that was my edited version. I await comment from my editorial team.
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