2. You spend hours looking at your dream houses online.
4. Defying the odds and the ridiculously small amount of money your bank says you can afford, you’re determined to find a house in the VERY SPECIFIC AREA you like.
7. Begrudgingly, your search area widens. Suddenly a 45 minute walk to the station seems totally reasonable.
“I’ll get one of those adult scooters, babe! It’ll be fine!”
8. Property search websites and apps take over your entire existence.
“Three new properties in this area! OMG.”
9. You become oh-so-wise to the estate agent lingo.
“A modest garden with a southerly aspect? Don’t bullshit me, Dexters.”
10. You soon know the area you’re willing to buy in like the back of your hand.
“Ladywood Road is not in Surbiton, it’s in Tolworth. Did you think you would get that past me, Greenfield’s. Did you? DON’T FUCK WITH ME.”
11. You find some places that will do.
“It could work. Maybe…”
14. An hour before you’re meant to go view it, you get a phone call.
“Hi, it’s Gemma from Foxtons? So, so sorry, but the property we were meant to be viewing today has had an offer accepted.”
24. They need to know so many things about you. You need to produce bank statements, give them your medical history, your mother’s medical history, and possibly a stool sample.
25. THEN SOMETHING HORRIBLE HAPPENS.
This horrible thing could be one of many horrible things.
You need to put together a bigger deposit. You need to have a letter signed by your deceased father and faxed to your solicitor by noon. The seller doesn’t want to include the roof in the sale any more. SOMETHING HORRIBLE.