Diary

Things were progressing well with the husband to be. In February he had to travel to Canada to see a man about some work. The man in question was an ex colleague who had emigrated with his young family, and the htb had been doing some software development with him. We caught a plane to Vancouver airport where the friend picked us up and took us back to stay in his huge house. We had the guest wing. However Vancouver in February is not for the faint hearted. It was not enchantingly snowy and crisply cold, but was dank, wet and grey. Oh yes and it was cold.  The heating over there was not the warm comforting radiators of home, but pathetic little base board heaters or vents in the floor that wafted out a gentle breeze of luke-warm air. I was therefore enchanted when the htb announced that he would like to move to Canada. Seeing my horrified expression he hastily backtracked with a sort of mumbled “well not for a few years “.

Back home and it was early summer. My house had just gone on the market and we were busy looking for our new home together. We were looking in Brighton, so we saw period homes on the sea front as well as homes on the outskirts. While the period homes were enchanting they were also grade two listed, and were almost certainly haunted. Then we found it, our perfect home was...a bungalow! Bungalows had not featured high on our list of must haves, and we only looked at this one because it was in the right price range while nothing else seemed to be.  It was not particularly large, but had a very big kitchen and an en-suite bathroom which seemed like the height of luxury. I already had a buyer for my home so it seemed like it should be an easy move. It wasn’t. My buyer turned out not to have the cash until they sold a property. It took ages and things turned a little frosty between us all.  We moved in just two weeks before Christmas. It was great. I absolutely loved our new home, and throughout the years it was my sanctuary.