This morning we went to see a house. It's perfect. It's a beautiful old cottage, it's got character, it's got everything we need - and as soon as we walked in it felt like it could be ours. We would just fit right in that house. AND we can afford it because it needs work doing to it, which really suits us. I love it. I love the garden. I love the village it's in. The house has a duck pond and a stream and looks over beautiful fields full of horses and there's a wonderful enormous sun room perfect for a family room and an open fire and a utility room with an old butler's sink... oh, I love it.
BUT...
It's on a horrible, fast, busy road. Backing out of the drive is terrifying. The thought of the children or the dog getting on to the road is chilling. There's no way of fencing off the drive so every time we got in the car we'd have to be on red alert making sure the children weren't giddying about. Sitting in the garden, conversation is drowned out every time a lorry or a motorbike goes by.
Repeat: I do not want this house. I do not want this house. I do not want this house.
Do I?