Yes It's Still For Sale

Huttonian said to the enquiring villager at the Kirk on Sunday. 'But's its been on the market for such a long time' 'Ten days actually'

It seems a long time but we have had two couples over the house-one very keen, the other switched off once they realised that JR's Yard was visible from our bedroom window when the Ash trees had shed their leaves. And the distaff one was uneasy, indeed startled, at the prospect of having an old graveyard north of the house as if graveyards near Old Manses could come a such a surprise. 'Such quiet neighbours' did not seem to offer her much comfort. A third couple had to postpone but will be back and as I post people all the way from the deepest south-Peterborough-are hastening north to arrive on the most stunning Autumnal day you can imagine. Surely one look and a desperate scrabble through the handbag for a well thumbed cheque book or a large suitcase of freshly minted fivers from the boot of the Daimler. When we look out of the kitchen window at miles and miles of countryside-now being ploughed by Farmer C's Massey Ferguson-the woodpile swarming with brown jobs, lesser brown jobs,gleaming finch things,Greater Great Woodpeckers, Pheasants, Collared Doves, Sparrow Hawks (enough birds-Blog-ed)we cannot understand why any prospective buyer fails to say 'Snap'.

Well the Peterborough couple have been and gone. Not much hope there. They made it clear that they were currently living in a very grand house in the Cambridgeshire countryside which, their friends told them, would be sold to the first multi-millionaire through their doors. And they agreed with their friends their problem was to find a house in the frozen north which matched up to their present residence. Mind you we had some features in common. We have working shutters. Of course. Woodburning stove. Yup. Raeburn. So do they.(Aga actually-with four ovens) Working 'servants' bells. Coming out of their ears. Garden stuffed full of fruit;ditto; Outhouses suitable for conversion. Tick that box. But then we started to go down hill. We have an adjoining Kirk-they enjoy a neighbouring Abbey, knocked about a bit by Thomas Cromwell (not the passe Oliver) and a Very Old Rectory. But the killer was in the garden. With great pride I pointed out The Pond. All our own work.

They said they have a pond too.

Well actually its a lake. And it has

a Boat on it.(Which you can only see on clear days)

(My natural rejoinder about our midget submarine, lurking in out Giant Newt infested depths occurred some hours later)

Labels: Merse, Old Manse, Selling the Manse

  ¶ 9:17 AM