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  • This grainy photo, taken from the sales brochure, is where my husband Kaspa & I shall be spending the next few weeks. Months. Years. Decades?

    I hope so. I'm a putting-down-roots kind of person. Literally. I still miss the vegetable patch where I used to live with my ex-partner. We planted & ate tender sweetcorn, spherical courgettes, stripy beetroot, luscious raspberries, blackcurrants I'd make into jam...

    As a Buddhist, I feel I shouldn't get so excited about getting a mortgage. We rent where we are now, and I know in my heart that we are only really borrowing everything - our prized possessions, our savings, our friends & loved ones. Eventually we have to give it all back.

    I know that our new mortgaged 'property' will eventually outgrow us, or us it.

    What a mortgage does buy us, though, is an opportunity to love this house for as long as we are willing and able.

    To update the not-quite-to-our-taste wallpaper. To mend the broken door. To install a woodburner for cosy winter nights. To add to the plants the previous owner planted (hellebores! aubretia! a eucalytpus!) with our own favourites (peonies! honeywort!)

    To create a space where we can welcome our friends with cups of tea and home-grown tomatoes. Where our cats will find new favourite spots to sleep. A place for spiritual practice and a place for the privileged work we do with our coaching & psychotherapy clients. Where we can move our garden chairs to the last light on summer evenings and gaze at the Malvern hills.

    A space where Kaspa can follow his heart. A space where I can write. A space where I can write my way home!

    I know that this house will not be perfect. I know that the boiler might give up the ghost one day, or we might keep banging our heads on an awkwardly placed shelf. We owe the mortgage company a lot of money. Our new neighbours might be fond of thrash metal.

    And yet. The love is bubbling up inside me.

    Don't worry, house. I know you're empty & waiting. We're coming home soon.
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