When there’s a deal to be done.


Every now and then I play one of my favourite games, it’s called “When somebody buys the movie rights to my book, which house should I buy?” Have you heard of it? It’s often also referred to as “What house will I buy when I buy the lottery?” and “When I’m rich what house will I buy?” It can also be expanded to fit around cars, shoes, handbags, and holidays.

Anyway, the game always starts out quite innocently, usually when something about my house annoys me; recently it’s been the bedroom, and the general lack of storage, or perhaps my kitchen, which whilst it is one of the favourite rooms in my house, it has a distinct lack of surface area.

I get frustrated at the parking in the street, grumpy at not having room for X or being close to Y, so I make myself a cup of tea, and fire up my phone (I’d use the iPad, but if I have time to have a cup of tea and look at houses that usually means the children are on it), and open up one of the many a random property app, and type in what I consider to be a reasonable budget.

I order it by price, and when there’s nothing that catches my eye within the first five properties I usually decide to add a little bit more, after all, you never know if there is a deal to be done…just add Phil and Kirstie. Still nothing. I mean, there are houses that are bigger then ours, obviously but perhaps their garden is over looked, or they’re a bit far away from the schools.

By now I’m getting grumpy, I’ve run out of rich tea biscuits, and I’ve had to retreat to the toilet because I am constantly being asked how to complete a certain level of Jelly Car I don’t know, I haven’t got a clue how to complete the first level let alone whatever level you are on…I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO TELL WHAT LEVEL YOU ARE ON.

Foolishly that’s when I play the game properly, I select the “no maximum budget” option, and widen the postcode search a touch to include one of my favourite parts of the city, totally so that I can be flexible of course.

My house is there. My beautiful house overlooking Lincoln Cathedral, it has a wine cellar, eight bedrooms, a beautiful garden, and it’s perfect. It’s also a seven-figure sum. DARN IT.

I look again, drooling over every single room, except for the kitchen. The kitchen isn’t perfect, it’s a bit old fashioned, the cupboards are a bit shabby, and the worktop seems a bit scratched.

However, I’m willing to overlook that minor detail, I mean, all it would take is a new set of doors, and a new worktop from London Granite to complete my perfect house.

I magically fill every room with lovely new furniture that will look JUST PERFECT including a few items, which I reckon the owners would probably want to leave, I mean, some pieces are just meant to stay in certain houses aren’t they?

Then Mr Aimee comes home, he may discover the printed out floor plan on the study floor, and although I improvise and suggest that it’s research for work, that my character has actually won the lottery, he knows me too well (plus perhaps the little note in the wine cellar saying “Aimee’s favourite chair and docking station kept here” is a bit of a give away), and reminds me that we are not millionaires, and the house will probably be sold by the time anybody has bought the film rights to my book.

NEGATIVE opinion I always think.

So I put it away, I head back to my app, because all of a sudden all I can think about is a new house, and I find a development project.

Now I KNOW he always says he doesn’t want a development, but you never know, so I totally accidentally on purpose leave the details optimistically lying about.

He also says no to that, but he doesn’t say no to is a new granite worktop for our current kitchen, proving, that actually there is always a deal to be done.

(Right now I’m suggesting a Ferrari, but I reckon I can get him down to a Fiat 500 by the end of the year).

This is a sponsored post – however I really do manipulate my husband in this way every time I want something that you can’t get using a discount voucher.

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