Real real real

I’m ready to pack it in and move to Queensland where they have giant cockroaches that feast on your toothbrush bristles and crocodiles and big spiders but at least there might be a lot less chance of getting a new kind of cold every three days. Today I have no voice, which is fine if you don’t have to yell “AMELIA! I SAID DON’T PAINT ON THE WALL!” and other such things every five minutes or so. I have developed a ferocious whisper that can stop any toddler dead in their tracks.
Yesterday afternoon Big-P and I went out to have a look at a house for sale in Blackburn. It was quite a nice house in a rabbit warren kind of way, but there were a few problems with it, the rabbit warren nature of its halls being a big one. Big-P and I agreed that it was ok and we could live in it at a pinch and probably be quite happy for a time and that was almost enough to make us go home and start working out a serious offer.

Two years (or so) ago when we were last looking for houses it was mid-housing boom. We would turn up for an open inspection and there would be lines of people milling through the house. There were young couples like us and old crusty looking investor types measuring the land and imagining how many units they could squeeze onto the property. These old crusty investor types were the reason we couldn’t find a house. I blame them entirely. Everyone was in a house buying frenzy and prices continued to climb week after week. So I would stomp around these open houses glaring at anyone who looked like an evil investor and we ended up renting for another year and then moving in with mum and dad.

Which brings us to today. The boom is over, in fact there is still much speculation about prices of houses not just slowing but falling in the next few months. We turn up to an inspection with our same amount of low expectations that we had two years ago to be pleasantly surprised that not only is the house halfway decent but there are only one or two other couples wandering through. Real Estate agents return your calls and almost fall over themselves to help out.

It’s hard for us to realise that we might actually find something we like. It’s hard not to see house number three and think “We must buy this now before a crusty investor gets their hooks into it!”.

On Saturday night Ben was telling us about a friend of his who hired a real estate expert to do the looking and to find a house for him. The expert’s philosophy was that you needed to look at 90 houses before finding the one you like. 90 houses. I think we can safely say that we have a bit of work to do yet.