Another day, another disappointment. Daughter and I have now been in Cumbria for six days. It is three weeks since our original completion date has come and gone. The most recent date for exchange has passed us by and three more business days have elapsed whereby nothing has seemingly happened. Nothing but frantic emailing on our part to solicitors and estate agents who merely share in our frustration and point the finger down the chain, otherwise known as the rabbit hole of confusion and opacity.
Rumour has it that our delay can be attributed to an outstanding inquiry pertaining to a solar panel on our buyers’ property. Solar panels that have been an integral part of the aforementioned property since the whole miserable process began, no surprises or spoilers here! We have been reliably informed by multiple sources that all relevant documentation pertaining to said solar panels are in the possession of the appropriate solicitor. And yet. And YET! Nobody can explain why there is a delay, not an estate agent, not a solicitor and not even our buyers’ themselves can put into words why on earth we are all sitting by our phones day in, day out, living in pods and eating microwave rice.
I am a calm, measured person. I consider myself someone quick to separate first world problems from genuine crisis. I have been around the block in terms of hard knocks and would like to think I can balance empathy with the fundamentals of stoicism. It’s fair to say, in conclusion, that melodrama and self-pity are very definitely not my bag. When I am faced with situations and circumstances that can feel overwhelming or stressful, I take myself back to a time in life that was genuinely traumatic or overwhelming, a situation that objectively, most human beings would struggle to survive, and that becomes my benchmark for managing the new situation I find myself in. It’s a massively helpful exercise and an approach that moderates the management of just about all of life’s little surprises and curve balls.
Which is just as well.
Let me paint you a picture.
Here in pod HQ, I am living with Daughter and our 18 month old Golden Retriever who has taken it upon herself to become Charlie ‘this is my house’ Bronson since the arrival of her little sister, 13 week old German Shepherd puppy, who is also here with us in our temporary accommodation. Inside our homely little shed we have on rotate a freshly washed and ironed white blouse, ready for each school day, along with a complete school uniform. We have clothes for 2 muftis (colour coded non-uniform days) and clothes for non-school days. Night clothes, my clothes, our bedding, dog bedding, puppy crate for when pup is unsupervised, dog toys to prevent chewing (if only), microwaveable food for a week, dog food for a week, and an array of toiletries, towels, tech and chargers. No wardrobe, nothing can be below knee height and it’s autumn, in Cumbria. It is wet and muddy. Bronson wants to eat everything and everyone who makes a sound louder than a mouse fart, 24 hours a day. And for a week nothing and nobody has progressed in terms of our dreadful and depressing move. As fastidiously as I’m ‘keeping house’, decisions are having to be made. Let the dirt dry and brush it off or admit defeat? Wellies and school uniform…sure, why not! The Golden Retriever has always been black, right?
Are these 21st Century problem, yes. Is this a first world problem, absolutely. I am thankful for our safety, that we have each other and that Daughter is so happy at school. Am I also unspeakably frustrated at a system that is so entirely dependent on the good word and professionalism of others who go underground and exercise radio silence at every hurdle, where everyone wins EXCEPT you. The losers are those invested in the purchase and pursuit of their new lives. Everyone else gets paid, we’re up to our necks in it and bleeding out without limit, it seems. Daughter loves school but there is no guarantee this can continue. None at all. And not one professional in the whole system seems to care. There is not one safeguard. And that makes me feel sick, distracted, unable to focus. It’s not a crisis on an international scale and pragmatism is being called for in abundance, but it is ok to feel the way we feel. And as I sat in the Grizedale Forest in the South Lakes with my girls today, pretending that time and space no longer existed, I reflected on Bronson (otherwise known as cloth ears) basking on the forest floor. Dogs, wise beyond their earthly form…
When you can’t take any more, just lie in the mud and pretend to be asleep.
That’s a lot of clothes.