We had a plan - then disaster!

We had a plan. We would visit local towns and register with estate agents. I have an alert system with Rightmove that sends links to properties within our range, but it’s easy to miss some, and besides, you can’t beat local knowledge. At least that was the theory.

The plan didn’t get off to a good start.

The first town we visited was Nantwich and then Tarporley. We left an hour later feeling dejected. These places were obviously out of our league as regards budget and expectations. With one exception we were treated either with disinterest or something verging on contempt! The fact that we were cash buyers with (what we thought) was a big slab of money, cut no ice. Frodsham was better, and we took away a couple of promising handouts.

Don’t get me wrong – there are dozens of houses that are within our budget – but most of them don’t tick the boxes.

We said clearly that we didn’t want a building project, and didn’t want to be on a busy road. It makes you wonder then, why one of the Tarporley agents gave us a handout for a detached property that needed gutting, sitting besides the A49!

Our next visit was to Whitchurch, just inside the Shropshire border. We were walking down into the town centre, when disaster struck. Linda was wearing boots with high heels, when she tripped and fell heavily.

I helped her to a low wall while we assessed the damage. She could wiggle her toes, but her ankle was badly twisted and painful. Looking back at the offending piece of pavement, surprisingly there was no hole. What there was, though, was a patchwork quilt of tarmac, comprised of all shades and hues, as over the years the existing layers had sunk and worn away, to be ‘repaired’ with yet another dollop of the black stuff. This presented a very uneven surface. I imagined that an industrial archaeologist could spend many happy hours peeling back the pavement, layer by layer, probably right back to the 1940s - or beyond...

She's laughing now - but she wasn't at the time!

Not to be defeated, Linda hobbled onto the main street, and we put Plan B into operation. She would wait while I explored the various streets and parades of shops, looking for estate agents. Only when I signalled to her that I had found an office, would she hobble towards me. As I helped her inside I explained that my wife didn’t normally walk with a hobble, but that she had just fallen victim to the council’s highway cuts.

I brought the car down to her when we had visited the last of four estate agents. There, in her rucksack, she found an emergency bandage laced with coolant, which was wound around the swelling joint.

Currently, she is still hobbling with the aid of a walking stick.

Today we went to Ellesmere in Shropshire, and have come away with several handouts. Time will tell, but so far we haven’t asked for a single viewing. Those properties that did attract us, disappointed on drive-by...

(Read my novels; Stench of Evil https://goo.gl/VQOVuS and The Devil in Them https://goo.gl/aS1cjZ in ebook format and paperback...)