I'M BUSY looking for a bad bank of my own. Apart from my credit card and phone bill, however, the only toxic assets I really have are a festering pair of boxers in the corner of my new bedroom, writes DON MORGAN
I thought moving back to Dublin would cure the ills of Carlow, but it seems the commute wasn’t to blame for me being a slob. Although we are quite enamoured with our new apartment in Dundrum-sur-Luas, it’s only a starting point, as opposed to the solution to our accommodation issue.
We are still looking for a house in which one might put down some roots. In searching, a question emerged last week which I’ve been mulling over since: how do your surroundings define you? How does a home affect you?
Where we were in our heads for the last year-and-a-half was purely because of the conditions in which we had to get to work, perform our duties, all of which had to be done to 100 per cent, without either falling asleep at the wheel or going postal on the off days where you feel surrounded by imbeciles. We’ve disposed of the bodies of umpteen spotty teens who trod on our flowers delivering junk mail for yet another take away, after clearing the fence from next door. Do they think they’re Arkle? When it comes to vaulting over our copper beech hedges, they certainly got more than four faults during our time in Carlow.
In three weeks of zero commuting, our murderous urges have left us, my anger has subsided, and my wife is yoga-ing every day. A colleague of ours even remarked that there was more of a spark about myself and the missus in the three weeks since we moved back up. It has to be said that we’re still tired, yet “tired but happy” beats “tired and cranky” any day of the week.
The story of how we found where we’re living now can only be described as a mixture of confusion and good fortune. It turned out that the most important thing of all when looking for a house is not giving a monkey’s. It really does help.
We viewed three potential rental properties after realising that buying before September wasn’t going to happen, but where we moved in wasn’t one of them. We saw one similar to it, in the same development. It was okay, we liked it. By the time we called the agent, however, it was let. “All is not lost,” he declared – yeah right, we thought, more hassle. “There’s another place which is identical and will be available to move into by the end of August. They’re just painting it.”
It would have the delightful aroma of mayonnaise and petrol fumes that only paint has which, I have to admit, I quite like, short of spreading it on a bap. We wouldn’t, however, have the opportunity to see it before moving in, but why would that bother us? With hedonistic abandon, i.e. a crushing fear of not getting anywhere, I cried: “Feck it, we’ll take it anyway, we’ll be away until August 28th, so we’ll move in then!”
The job was oxo, and thank God for that, or it would have been my mother’s couch for us, and competing for space with her Teddybear collection isn’t as fun as it sounds.
We paid a deposit before heading abroad for a week. Two things could have scuppered the deal for us: we had three hours sleep the night before coming home. We got a train at 6am which took us to our airport in two hours. Thanks to our friends at Douwe-Egberts, we were able to stay awake long enough to get to Dublin. What if the drive from the airport was too bad, especially with a boot full of crockery, coffee and a suitcase full of – I kid you not – coffee cream? Also, what if we didn’t like the flat? We’d be stuck with it.
It turned out the flat was juuuuuuuust right. We’ve looked at over 100 houses and three apartments. Fell in love with one. Moved in. It’ll do the trick for now. But can a 56sq m (600sq ft) flat best a 112sq m (1,200sq ft) house in the long run?
