Category: Downsizing

What no one tells you about Renovating a Victorian Terraced House

I downsized

I went from a big house to a small house. And now I am making the small house bigger. This it the first major renovation I have project managed using a team of builders, plumbers and designers, although the DH and I seem to have spent our lives renovating houses.

Yes it seems bonkers, downsize, extend. The big house had six bedrooms and three storeys. The small house has two bedrooms which is all we need. It also had an impossibly small and poorly laid out kitchen.

The Victorian Terrace in Bearwood

In England there are millions of terraced houses built in the Victorian era. In Bearwood where I live there is one of the largest grid of such houses in the country, mostly Victorian, spreading away from the main street, getting bigger and grander as they move up the hill toward what was parkland (landscaped by Humphry Repton) of Warley Abbey which is now Warley Woods. Indeed many of the roads in the area were named after local people.

When I first moved to Birmingham from London this area of terraced houses was where I wanted to live. Due to changes in mortgage interest relief in 1988 creating a spike in the housing market and a rush for unmarried couples to buy before losing joint tax relief, this area became unaffordable.

Houses were being viewed on an open house basis – sometimes 20 or 30 couples at a time. Offers made in sealed bids. Houses selling for 5 or 6 times the asking price. Negative equity. Fast forward 30 years and by downsizing I could move to the area, to my lovely small house.

  • The wall from the neighbours garden


We moved in November 2015. The renovation did not start until April 2017. After moving we then went travelling. My original plan was that the work would happen while we were away. Realistically this was not a good plan. Subsequent experience has reinforced this view.

It was a long time to live with a hopeless kitchen, too much furniture and washing draped in front of the fire in winter. I began to hate the house, regret the decision to move.

The house was also very dark. Not good for a SAD sufferer. I got a lamp.

In hindsight the delay helped me figure out what I wanted. I learned a lot, lost some money due to bad advice, discovered that builders can be unreliable or have no vision or both.

In May 2016 out of sheer frustration I called a kitchen company whose ad I had seen in the free local paper. Not only did the designer turn up when he said he would, he brought a builder with him.

The most common kitchen extension in a terraced house is a long thin galley style utilising the space of the former outhouses which were originally the coal house and outdoor lavatory. And that is what every builder told me to do. Until Dave.

The vision

Dave is a man of few words. Indeed on some days I think he uses all his words in one conversation with me. I have lots of words. That day he used them very wisely as he outlined what he thought would work in the house.

I had a vision – of an open plan Australian style house with lots of light. Every other builder muttered and tutted. The hopeless, expensive, unnecessary architect that one builder said I needed said it would be too expensive and require planning permission. He emailed two plans that were rubbish and charged me £250. I sacked him.

Dave said – and he had not heard my vision  – you could knock down the back wall, extend to the side return and have bifold doors and skylights to let in the light. And open the front and back rooms up to make it feel bigger.

Chris the kitchen man nodded and outlined some ideas for the kitchen. I then shared my vision of an open plan Australian kitchen with bifold doors and skylights and lots of cupboards and drawers to hide all the crap. AKA minimalist. No kettle, no toaster. Nothing on the worktops.

Fast forward 12 months and the work is in progress to make that vision reality.

It has not been plain sailing

While planning permission was not required, a Party Wall Agreement was. And Building Regs (which the builder arranged). Party Wall Agreements are usually straightforward. A letter is sent to your neighbours and they say yes ok and you have an agreement. The surveyor I had used in the purchase of the house had mentioned she also specialised in party wall agreements and so I got in touch with her. One of our neighbours had been fine when I told him the plans. The other, an absentee landlord had not. Short story, it was not straightforward. All three houses had to be surveyed at my cost and a Party Wall Award was made. So more money spent and still not a brick laid. But money spent on a water tight agreement that cannot be disputed.

Tears and tantrums and having nowhere to live

At this stage (well pre the award) I could have happily sold the house and ran away to an island or live in a tent. Hell, a swag in the NT would be just grand. The snag was that I would have to disclose a dispute with a neighbour. The outhouses were falling down and we could not touch them without The Award. This was a low point in the process. It was winter, it was cold, it was dark and all of that plus the hassle factor depressed me.

We then had to move out. The builder had erased the pencilled in start date. He had other clients. I thought it would be February and booked a house sit in Wales. Nothing happened but DH was commuting from Wrexham to Birmingham as we had committed to the house sit. We were then told it would be Easter ish and secured another house sit in Kidderminster. And work started.

Six weeks said Dave. It is now week seven. And we can’t move back in yet. Four bank holidays is four work days lost. Fortunately the weather has been on the builders side (or I am sure it would have taken longer) and they turn up every day by 8.30. They are polite and pleasant to the neighbours and get on with it. Bricks have been re used where possible so the huge extension blends into the existing building.

We have a bathroom. We very nearly didn’t.

When the floor tiles were removed and the tiles under that were also removed, and then the lino, the joists were rotten. The floor could have collapsed into the kitchen below at any time. We had to have a new floor.

I visited the site to discover the loo and wash basin crammed into a corner, insomuch I had to slide past the loo to use the wash basin and stand sideways to use it. And not be able to open the drawers beneath it. After crying and throwing all the toys out of the pram the builder suggested I met his plumber. The plumber agreed with me and assured me that I was not being a princess. He agreed that I was right (I like that feeling) and I remembered who was paying for this (me).

More tears, a hissy fit and redrawn plans (this is why you need to visit the site regularly) but no hot water. Because the boiler can’t go in the bathroom. Communication between the builder, the fitter and the designer (who have worked together numerous times) just wasn’t happening. Lesson learned, visit often and if it feels wrong it probably is. And say something. If I had left it and it had been plumbed in and tiled it would have been an expensive and timely mistake to fix.

And then they suggested I get my own water supply

Terraced houses often share a water supply. Back in 1898 or so this wasn’t a big deal. Now with washing machines and dishwashers and power showers it can mean that the pressure of the water can be low. Dave said it will probably be free. It is not. I also had to explain to the water company that they had sent me the wrong paperwork. I had to print the right paper work, complete by hand, write a cheque (the only payment method) and post it to them. But I will have my own water supply, the plumbers will replace the lead pipes and my power shower won’t be a trickle. All at a price, of course.

The shopping for appliances

Major headache.

I have not bought new kitchen appliances for over 13 years. The last washing machine and dishwasher were refurbished models that lasted longer than the full priced ones. My fridge freezer was 20 years old.

The cost involved in buying these prompts the ‘how much? my first cooker cost £4 and lasted 20 years’ reaction. Chris the kitchen man needed decisions to draw the final plans. He suggested lots of online retailers and I trawled through these comparing prices. Made a wish list with John Lewis. Who were no more expensive than the big box websites.

I couldn’t have a tumble dryer where planned as it can’t be vented. There are no integrated condenser ones. Do I want a fridge freezer with an ice maker? What is the best make? I knew I wanted the slide and hide ovens but did I need a steam oven? A two drawer dishwasher or not? Finally after many hours and trade offs on prices and brand names versus non branded and Beko versus Bosch who make 17% of parts for all things in Germany …. the things you learn – I went to John Lewis, met a helpful sales advisor/partner and got £500 wiped off the bill by their never knowingly undersold promise. And I got a steam oven.

Feck this I am going on holiday (not)

After the first house sit we naively thought we may be able to move back into the house. We couldn’t. The house was a wreck.

Renovating on this scale involves up to six builders knocking down and building walls, wires hanging, a cement mixer in the sitting room. Plumbers, plasterers and a sparkie all in my house.

It was like Grand Design meets Big Build. Without Nick Knowles to hug me. And we had no where to live.

I longingly perused holidays (a week in Greece for £100 was on offer) but the DH had to work. We could rent a campervan I thought. £100 per day.

I looked for a house sit which had to be near enough home for site visits and the DH to get to work. There are not a lot of house sits in Birmingham. One we applied for immediately after the Kidderminster sit got postponed and so I booked my first ever AirBnB.  More tears and tantrums ensued.

AirBnB is expensive in Birmingham

I didn’t want a room in a house so looked for self contained apartments. The ones that are good get booked up, and for long term accommodation are not economical. Great for those on business expenses, not so great for people needing short term accommodation while their house is being renovated. And the original concept of AirBnB was to rent out a room in your house not rent out apartments. My experience was not good. I have airbrushed that out of my life and am dipping my toes back into the world again, to experience it as it was intended.

I discovered apartments in Kensington cheaper than Harborne. A studio in Streatham cost less per night than one in West Bromwich. Why so expensive in the Birmingham area? At this rate I would have to sell the house to pay to stay in a bedsit. And it was not a solution at £40 to £60 per night to our accommodation situation. Building extensions is expensive and renting rooms or flats was a drain on resources. More tears and tantrums.

I started looking at holidays again

I resented that we had to stay in the area as the DH had a job. Asked him to quit the job. I found holidays that were under £150 and that made paying out more than that for a grotty bedsit unbearable. I threatened to go to Greece by myself. But it cost more for one to go on a package to Crete than for the two of us. Single Supplement Hell. Travel Agent suggested buying two tickets and one would be a no show. Seriously that is what people do. And if I had gone away to a Greek Island who would have noticed the big design error in the bathroom? A holiday wasn’t an option.

Rescued by the children and weekend escapes

The DD invited us to her flat for the weekend. The train fare to London was cheaper than staying in the AirBnB. She offered it again a fortnight later and the train fare the second time was cheaper than a daysaver bus ticket. The DS said we could stay in his and his GF’s spare room. I think they realised by then I was At The End Of My Tether. Of course I have paid them. I took an average rate from AirBnB to rent a room minus cleaning and commission and offered that. I would rather give them the money than pay for some of the shoddy rooms on offer on AirBnB. It is not perfect. Who would want their parents living with them for weeks on end?

We try to move out at the weekend (see offer by DD above) and book B&B’s away. We went to Malvern and explored National Trust Properties. Exchanged building nightmares with an ex lodger and now friend. Her stories were worse than mine. I may have a mean neighbour but my builder hasn’t knocked a hole through to his kitchen.

I am still house clearing the house that belonged to the mom in law, so we have been to Winchester once and are booked to go again. We usually stay at a chain hotel but as mentioned earlier, this time I will be using AirBnB and staying with a host this time. I hope my faith in AirBnB is restored.

Another house sit

The people we sat for at Easter asked us back for four days. We love the house and the dogs. It gives the DS and the GF a break. Truly this sit is almost as good as a holiday. The bed is soooo comfortable which means a good nights sleep. The peace and quiet, I see no one all day, the only noise is the birdsong and the sound of hooves as people ride their horses down the lane. With no distractions I get to write and read.  Writers block, go play with the dogs. Need a nana nap, go nap with the dogs.

And then?

Next week we go back to the DS and hope that is only for a few days if the hot water is connected. If we have a bed and hot water we will move in. Which is why we spent a weekend ….


The DH and I cleaned for two days.

The dust was unbelievable. We got through three vacuum cleaner bags. I discovered that baby wipes are the best cleaning cloth. The DH cleaned the gas central heating boiler with them. The one that is disconnected and leaking over the carpet in the spare room. Encrusted with kitchen grease. Not sure I would want to use baby wipes on a baby mind…. but they are great on bathrooms, brick dust, wood, plastic and Upvc window frames.

I have slept in ten different beds

With house sitting, AirBnB, children putting us up, weekends away the DH and I have slept in ten beds. We have lived out of a suitcase since Easter. Before that we were already packing away. I take my pillow everywhere and sometimes my own bed linen. While moving around and sleeping in swags and hotels and the YHA when travelling is fun, this is not. I spend large parts of the day alone. I have to wash clothes daily as we only have what we can carry. The DH adds hours to his commute when we are house sitting. For the first time in my life I am home sick.

And yet I count my lucky stars that if I were really homeless my bed would be a doorway. And I will have a bed to call my own, soon.

Lessons learned so far

Have a vision

Don’t forget you are the paying customer

Research party wall, planning permission and building regs

Find somewhere to rent for 3 to 6 months if you can (expensive and not easy)

Moving from bed to bed and living out of a suitcase is not fun

Ask everyone you know who had building work what it was like

Ask them who their builder was and would they recommend them

Stand your ground

Book a holiday

Visit the site regularly

If it doesn’t feel right it probably isn’t

Have a contingency fund because things will go wrong

Be prepared for additional expenses

Take photos

Remember the vision

Be nice to your children

It gets worse before it gets better

Go away for weekends

Be assertive

That promise you made to yourself – after the last renovation – to never do it again?

Like childbirth you forget how painful it is

Book a holiday

Go on holiday

Cry a little bit

Use baby wipes to clean everything

Sell all your old furniture or give it away – it won’t feel like a new home if you don’t

Go to John Lewis for your white goods as they will price match everything

Cape Verde calls

In three weeks I will be in Sal. At an all inclusive hotel. It will be sunny. I will have one bed for seven nights that someone else will make. I will eat food I didn’t have to buy and cook. The house will probably be finished.









Jumping off the work, watch, spend treadmill.

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Somewhere back in the early 80’s during ‘The Thatcher Years’ I bought the lie.

The lie that success was measured by my education, my work, job title, salary, car, possessions  and my home.

I devoured Good Housekeeping in the late 70’s when I was a poor student. I dreamt of having a home with beautiful soft furnishings and an Aga in the kitchen.

Neither husband or children were in that dream because, post equal pay act I was independent, I had a degree and I was going to be that suited and booted ‘successful career woman’. With an Aga and soft furnishings.

Then the dream of the fairly tale wedding was sold to us – Princess Diana had found her Prince. And I found mine, meeting him on my birthday, after he had lost a £5 note. Indeed it was the old school friend I was with at the time who asked me to see if he was available and perhaps set her up with him that prompted me to get to know him better. We dated. Perhaps I could really ‘have it all’?

Reader I married him

We (the DH and I) were both in work but not earning a great deal and so we rented a cottage attached to a faux manor house in Warlingham. It was lovely with its walled garden with rambling roses and my herb patch. Within a year I was expecting our first child. I was 25 years old.

The landlady turned out to be a malicious old bat and we left, with nowhere to live. Technically homeless. We moved in with the brother in law and brought our daughter home to a tiny room in a small flat.

In less than two years from the day we met, we had a maisonette, a baby and a mortgage that was costing us nearly all one salary. I had to find work as we needed the money.

After being a retail manager and customer services assistant in a major department store the only job I could find I was doing the accounts in a scruffy bathroom shop with a filthy toilet. I left after a week and got a job in an estate agents. That lasted a few months.

I fell on my feet and got a job in customer service at Croydon Cable, one of the first cable tv providers in the UK. I loved that job and the people I worked with.  My daughter was finally at a wonderful nursery instead of a ok babyminder not so good childminder and it all seemed as though this would be it for a few years.

Settled and contented

We moved to a two up two down terraced house, got a bigger mortgage, because by then we had two well paid jobs we both loved and could not see that changing. We lived the Thatcher dream. Get a better job, get more debt. We had dinner parties on Saturday night, watched thirtysomething on week nights and Hope was my role model.

Hope and Michael played out lives parallel to ours in many ways. We had friends like Melissa and Gary. Didn’t want to be Nancy. Life and relationships changed in a difficult time politically in the US. In the UK things were also changing and the bubble was about to burst.

Chasing the money

My husband had left the job he loved at Allders, because we needed more money. You can see where this is going. Now he was responsible for all the displays in Radio Rentals showrooms in North London. He had a company car, a lot of autonomy, was out and about and loved the work.

He was doing the job he originally wanted when all those years ago he went to Allders asking for a job in window display. Instead he was taken on in the ticket office, got training to be a printer and then got his best friends from school jobs there too. And they were all very happy in their work and remain friends to this day.

But the days of TV rental were numbered. Things were changing. At one point he was being relocated to Newcastle, which we were happy about. We would move, houses were cheaper, there was nothing to tie us to Surrey. It didn’t happen. The cunning plan of the bag men was of course to hope he would resign and they wouldn’t have to fork out redundancy pay. We could see that and stuck it out and he got redundancy.

He merchandised Mars Bars, I got a job in The City (leaving a job and people I liked at Croydon Cable) because – yup you see the pattern emerging here? We needed more money.

Nothing changes without change

We discussed selling the house and going travelling with a toddler. We didn’t. Who knows what all of our lives would look like now if we had? Instead the DH was offered job in the West Midlands with Do It All as a Point of Sale Manager. Good salary, company car, lots of travel. And so another pattern emerges.

I was offered a job in Birmingham. This is how the interview went.  I met my old boss on Green Park Station and when he found out I was relocating, he offered me a job as his PA.

The plan was to sell in Surrey, buy two houses in Birmingham, one cash, one on a mortgage. I still wanted to go travelling, the DH had the sensible head aka this is what you do, work, buy house, have kids, retire… and this was going to be the compromise. Eventually be mortgage free and travel.

But then, Henny Penny, the sky fell in. House prices spiralled, sealed bids were invited on in demand houses and it didn’t happen. We sat it out, bought a rambling three storey house at the cheaper end of the town and spent 10 years refurbishing it. Moved because we had neighbours from hell, to another more sprawling house in need of major work and lived on the top floor while it was gutted. The bath was in the tiny top floor kitchen, the gas had been condemned and we had no floor in the kitchen on the ground floor.

By then we had two children, had survived five redundancies, a lot of debt and contemplated living and sleeping in the lounge room  to keep warm in winter. What happened was we got lodgers. Students at first, then overseas students learning English as a foreign language and then professionals as we upgraded the house. And most of the time it worked out well. The DH and I have remained in touch with many of our lodgers. Some are good friends.

Fast forward 3o years or so

I am so over Good Housekeeping. Look at this list of ‘chores‘ that apparently we need to do to keep our beautiful home spotless. By we I mean the woman of the house. Willow Towers was in need of more work, the DH and I were no longer happy to share our house. We had just got back from housesitting in Melbourne where there had just been the two of us and we liked it that way. We looked around the house and thought

‘this is not the life we want’.

In September 2015 we decided to sell and gave the lodgers notice. In October it sold and in November we downsized, moving to a two up two down and became mortgage and debt free.

We moved to a low maintenance, lock up and go house. No carpets to clean because you know, life is too short. Plan A is to live there a year or so, then rent it out. Plan B to sell it and buy a two bed apartment with no stairs, in the city, Plan C to live in a camper van. Or Plan D. Whatever that may be.

I look back now and realise that on balance we both have had jobs we have loved, working with people we liked. We still have friends from work.

Yes we have done some pretty shitty jobs too – post redundancy and in fear of losing the house. I have worked in call centres and the DH has door knocked to sell cable TV.

He now works part time driving a mobile library, a job he loves and a job other people think is awesome. I am supposed to be project managing the renovations. Instead I am dog walking in Wales and grappling with WordPress. We volunteer for the food bank I used to work for and like Mary Poppins, wait for the wind to change.

The future

Who knows? Suddenly I realise I am in my late 50’s and the DH in his early 60’s. That has been weighing on my mind a lot recently. It is young and it is not. I know 70 year olds with more energy than I. And younger people with less. At my age my nan had false teeth, permed grey curls and wore crimplene dresses. So I am doing fine but not as fine as I would like to be. I have been ill for three months. My back aches. I need sun.

Empty nesters

Both our children have left home. They did ok considering the parents they have. They are smart, funny and they are kind. Out of all the things I have done in my life, having these two wonderful people has given me the most joy. They continue to surprise and delight me.

It wasn’t always easy

My parenting role model wasn’t what you call average. Hey, Dad left us hooray, he use to beat his kids. Mom took multiple jobs to afford to pay for me to go on school trips. Nan made me banana and custard for tea. Mom got a teaching job and I had to learn to cook because she couldn’t. I thought Super Nanny had it sussed. I was wrong. Kids, I am sorry. I did my best. It wasn’t good enough. But you did good. I am proud of you.

The days are long when you don’t work

I am not a hobby kind of person. My mom, in her ‘retirement’ took up knitting, golfing, ebaying, photography, painting, and bought all she needed for these hobbies. Each lasted a couple of years.

She hoarded her life in shoe boxes and took solace in buying clothes. I tried to knit a ‘pussy hat’. It is still in the bag, stitches cast on and abandoned. I have a colouring book. I read. I declutter a lot as the hoarding gene was inherited.

At the end, she regretted not going to India. Travel was when she was happiest, yet she was always reaching out for more. Instead of living her last years on a sunny terrace in Greece she was bedridden and relied on oxygen.

My grandad dreamt of a cottage by the sea. He ended his years on a sofa in the front room, reliant on oxygen. My aunt, ended her years on a hospital bed in her kitchen. She was surrounded by years of newspapers piled up everywhere, which we were not allowed to move, not even to sit on a chair. There was a portapotty by her side and she too was reliant on oxygen. Her regret? Spending time looking after everyone else and not seeing more of the world.

So what is the plan?

My fitness is of a concern. These past few weeks I have been dog walking and my Fitbit tells me I am averaging 8000 steps. Spring is here so the excuses not to go swimming (cold, cold, cold) are wearing thin. I need to eat better food and this week I have been hovering between 5 and 10 veg or fruit a day. My hula hooping pal wants me to join her class. Yoga perhaps?

House Sitting has removed me from the small house that has quite frankly been getting me down. By now I had hoped that the impossible kitchen would have been replaced but all I am doing is waiting on other people. It is out of my control which is difficult.

An all inclusive sun holiday is booked for June. Post building work I hope.

Still more house clearing in Winchester.

And then?

I think I need a plan. With a date on it.


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Unclutter my life – an empty attic

What is in your attic?

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I told my mother many years ago, when discussing wills and inheritance etc, that the best gift a parent can give a child is an empty attic.

Mom was a hoarder. And so it seems am I.

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After she died, while I didn’t have to deal with the contents of an attic, it took 5 full car loads to empty her bedroom. And many months of sifting and sorting – I am still going through the photographs.

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Mom travelled extensively and kept every piece of paper she touched, menus, tickets, receipts and every photo, good or bad, plus duplicates of every photo. She put them in albums, stored another version on a CD and kept it all in labelled shoe boxes. That gathered dust, unopened, for decades.


My promise

I promised my kids that they will not have to do what I had to do, empty a room full of stuff and sift through hundreds of photos and bags of clothes. I have been decluttering now for over 3 years.

I was also driven by my desire to downsize and travel more. And now the move to a very small house is imminent and there is nowhere to hide my stuff in that house.

Today I helped my husband empty the loft. I was pretty confident that it was not cluttered.

A few years ago we had had a good sort out. Only three C’s up there, Cases, Christmas and I forget the other C.

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Oh yes. The other C was for crap. It seems that since the last clear out, other stuff has found its way up a ladder and into the loft. How did that happen?

Trips to the tip

The tip is very strict about what can go where and much of the contents are recycled.

It is also renown for decorating the entrance with fun items.

At Christmas they really go to town and are featured on local tv.


Christmas tree

We had a lovely 10 foot Christmas tree, and now that will be in this years display.

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On our second and third visit we had to queue to get in. With lots of other people getting rid of their stuff.

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People on the Work, Watch, Spend Treadmill. The one I have stepped off. Electrical items and computers that are now discarded due to built in or planned obsolescence.

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 Stop buying stuff

I stopped buying stuff a few years ago, and started giving things away. I do not have a smartphone or a new ipad.

I wear the same clothes I was wearing 5 years ago and anything new I have bought has been for a specific reason (jeans fell apart) or had to match items I already had. I cleared my closet  some time ago. Therefore the 333 project has been quite easy for me to do.

But back into the attic. C for Cases.

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My name is Coral and I am addicted to luggage

I have a luggage addiction. There are 15 assorted suitcases and bags there. That is not all of them. There are also 2 back packs and a further 3 overnight/weekend bags in my wardrobe.

Hoarding for Christmas

C for Christmas. Every Christmas bag we ever had, inside a Christmas bag to re use the following year. Christmas cards. Not sent one for years and years.


C for Crap. Bags of it.

And what did I find amongst all that crap? This. 8 Simple Rules for Keeping Clutter at Bay. Well that didn’t work, so I trashed that too.

To all of you who put something into the loft ‘just in case’. don’t. Really don’t. It might come in useful I can hear you saying. The empty box of an item you no longer have. A box of cables. No. No. No.

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How much room for sentiment?

I did find all the baby blankets that are now 60 years old. Given to me when I had my first child by my Mother in Law, they were the blankets my husband had as a baby. Hard to part with them. Some of the soft toys. Ditto. And I have to tell myself that there is nowhere to hide them in the new tiny house.

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Maybe one lovely blanket made into a cushion cover and I will keep Ragsy and Thread Bear. What do you think?


A - Downsizing - 17 happy years but time to move on

Downsizing – 17 happy years but time to move on

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Willow Towers

Ever since I got back from the mini round the world trip I made with my husband in 2011/2 I have been wanting to sell this house and downsize. Affectionately known as Willow Towers it was great when we had young children and their friends to stay. Yet it is too big for us almost empty nesters.

Three and half years later, two more trips to Australia and one to New Zealand and lots of short hops to Europe, the DH and I knew we no longer needed this house, the stuff and the hard work to keep it clean.

It is sold. We have found a much smaller house to move in (the total ground floor of the new one would almost fit into my current kitchen) and money will be freed up to do what we want to do.

This may be a camper van, a small house in Crete, house sitting around the world, but whatever it is, travel is the plan. We have some things to tie up in the UK, so for now we need a base here for a short while, so we have invested in another house.

It has not been a smooth journey. Is house moving ever easy?


As I listed my very precise requirements for the new house to a friend (who has also recently moved house) she remarked ‘you don’t want much do you?’ That shook me for a while and I thought I may have to compromise. The thought of not getting what I wanted had not occurred to me.

Things moved much quicker than I had anticipated. We received an offer for the house on the first day it went on the market. We had not found a house that met the precise requirements. I panicked and went into meltdown.

list for lisa

My lovely life coach told me to write a list. Where will the new house be? What do we need from the new house? When do we want to move by? Who do we want to buy the house? What will it feel like when we have moved?

It turns out that I don’t have to compromise. Because I made that list and the house chose me. I was torn between two houses, the tiny house and one a bit bigger.

Both had pros and cons. Location, size, decor… and then I realised that the house we rejected I liked only because it was similar to the one we currently live in. And it had a garden room. Where I could hide the clutter I hadn’t yet got rid of.

And getting rid of stuff was high on my list of priorities. Less stuff, more travel.


And as the photo sifting continues, today, I found the photos of Willow Towers in July 1998.

The Willow Tree

It reminded me of how far we had come, we took a sad house and made it happy. And now it is time to move on. Let a new family grow in it.

The compromise was really the house we decided not to buy. It was my get out clause.

What I was doing was planning where to hide all my stuff. I cannot take any crap with me now as there is nowhere it could hide in the tiny house.

I lost sight of the fact that there is only three of us and the plan is for me and Phil to travel more.

Which means most of the time there will only be one adult in the house.

We don’t need a three storey, six bed house.


I wasn’t happy in the big house anymore. I didn’t want lots of cleaning. I didn’t want to pay to heat rooms we didn’t use. I didn’t want to be surrounded by clutter.

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And we don’t want one that needs work to do to it because for 30 years all we have done is buy, renovate, move. We did normal. We walked the work, watch, spend treadmill. I thought that was what I wanted. It turns out I don’t.

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The house we have bought is very similar to the one we lived in, in 1986. We have come full circle.

All we did to that was install a new kitchen and in the new tiny house we will have to improve the kitchen, because it is small, so small that only one person can be in it at a time. Willow Towers has been a 17 year project and Phil and I are fed up of that now. Weekends taken up with housework and lawn mowing are no more. Small House, Small Garden and pay others to make the improvements.

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This move is the key to living the life I want to live now. An authentic life.

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