Thursday August 28, 2008
Swift as a speeding fast thing the message came back today that our buyers are delighted for us to leave our washer, dishwasher and fridge-freezer behind. Which is good. They’re in fine fettle but are several years old now and have no residual value; if we end up taking them with us they’ll need to go in the garage pending a freecycle disposal and that does seem silly.
All is good and quiet on the house move, with everybody happy and pushing papers around the circuit at normal speed.
It transpires that our buyers’ solicitor, on principle, dismisses the validity of information in the HIP and so is carrying out his own searches and such. I’m told that most solicitors have the same view. So the £450 we paid is money down the drain; nobody other than me has read the report, and it’s not intended for me. This expensive compulsory document is no more than taxation without benefit to any involved person and the legislation should be repealed. Time for one of those tedious letters to the editor, not that any good will come of it.
If we ever sell again under this stupid legislation I shall produce the HIP myself, for a fraction of the cost and using one of the DIY form sets that are freely available. I’m sure I can do as good a job as any so-called ‘professional’.
“Tell you what,” I said, all bright and bouncy on our way for lunch in Burnham, “If we ever move again, let’s go and live in Mykonos. You can run a bar and I’ll sit in the corner and write obscure poetry about Greek islands in the sun.”
“On one condition.”
“Go on, then, what’s that?”
“You have to cook omelettes for your living.”
“It’s a deal.”
Lunch was good, and filling, and we went for a long stroll along the prom afterwards, resting now and again as my legs ran out of oomph. It was a grey day, with no discernible sunshine while we were out. Even so I enjoyed watching the world go by.
“You can do a bit of practice this evening,” Graham said just now, looking over my shoulder while I am drivelling this.
“What, making a HIP?”
“No, silly. Cooking an omelette. I could just go an omelette for dinner.”
“You gottit.”
