Just sitting thinking

I'm in my old home. It is quiet and sunny, and the absence of much of our old furniture makes it feel spacious and airy. I like this pared-down living, and think I shall never accumulate so much stuff again, wherever I live. Gardener, are you paying attention?

I'm here because I am waiting to meet a woman from a holiday cottage agency, who will 'appraise' the cottage in terms of its suitability for holiday letting. I have no doubt about its suitability, myself; this area has many such cottages, and they do well. 

But I do have doubts about the agency requirements: we can't market and let simultaneously (this makes sense) and we would be tied in for at least a year. But I shall discuss and listen, and then think about our options and the alternatives. My head is buzzing.

Potential buyers have come and looked at the cottage; all loved it, they said, but so far no one has loved it enough to buy it. So we think about holiday letting as a way of staunching the haemorrhaging of savings as we maintain two homes, although this will impact on the days when potential buyers can view the place. It's only been on the market since early March, so I must be patient, but waiting is costly.

Complications also exist relating to our new home, which is now under offer. As a mews wing of a large manor which is being sold, any sale is likely to take months, and as tenants we have protection in law, but it is unsettling, and we may not wish to stay once our lovely, kind landlady moves out. 

But for now, we stay put, and try not to predict the future too catastrophically. But we know we will never live in such a lovely place again, with its glorious view, its grounds and ponds, its absence of traffic, and its wonky old gates that we lock at night. A gated community of five adults, nine cats, four dogs, and - until a recent tragedy - a tame Muscovy duck. The notion amuses us.

Our view of the Quantocks:

Millie at the gates:

Millie and Lottie on the drive:

If we need to, we can come back to our own beloved cottage, but it feels like retreating after a difficult decision was made to sell up and move, and not carried out. And I can't bear the thought of the cats having to negotiate traffic again....

I wander round the cottage as I wait, making a list in my head of jobs to be done here this week. Outside, the recent very wet weather followed by hot sunshine has made the garden, often pretty at this time of year, turn into a wilderness. Later we must tackle the suddenly-rampaging weeds (Herb Robert - how I hate you!) and paint the shed door. 

Between March and May - rampage!

To my amusement, I notice that a couple of last year's potatoes escaped the harvesting with little E, and two sturdy 'volunteers' have emerged in the old patch. 

At the new house, my potatoes are being grown in bags and buckets, and seem to be thriving too. Little E has his own potato that he planted in a pot; photos are taken and sent to him of its emerging leaves, in the hope that he will come to enjoy gardening as well as eating.

..... The appraisal has been carried out, compliments given, and we will be given details of the cottage's earning potential soon. There are many things for me to take away and think about, and that's what I shall do. Meantime, dear Flossie has been left alone for rather too long, so I shall go back to her and the cats. We will walk, and sit in the sun, and just be in the moment.

Back soon. On the cats' blog HERE I've been questioning what to do with my own blog. Views welcome.