Hayrick

“Hayrick?  He’s called Hayrick?” said the elderly lady out walking her pug.
“No, we call him by saying ‘Hey, Rick’ ”
“Ah, I see. Eric, that’s nice name.”
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Lovely sunshine for our afternoon walk but that wind is bitter cold.  It’s been a busy week looking for houses. We travelled over the Shopshire border into Wales on Wednesday to view a bungalow. The property was superb but the garden too small (although Rick would be able to run circuits around the bungalow) and there was noise from a nearby road. We came away disappointed.  The search is frustrating.  We had shortlisted three properties, one was sold before we could view and the other was removed from the market.

This morning I thought I had found an idyllic cottage in Somerset.  Paul does due diligence on all my ‘discoveries’ and on checking the satellite image on Google maps he noticed the property was surrounded by gypsy trailer parks.  Another ideal property showed there was an active quarry nearby.  At least three other wonderful houses had railway lines at the bottom of the garden and I’ve lost count of the number of houses that are situated on busy A-roads although Rightmove’s photographs would suggest that they are in the middle of extensive grounds in the countryside.  Sarah and Kat have been trying to persuade us to buy the Gothic Folly that we found in Grimsby.  We were actually tempted for a few minutes before common sense kicked in.  Or has it?

So the search continues and we are aware of the clock ticking.  We really want to find somewhere soon.