So, after two years of trying, we are now the owners of a house in the great metropolis of Petersfield and will leave our country living behind.

No more watching the deer with a backdrop of The Downs from my shower, for example.

Swapping that for the future-proofing ability to walk, not have to drive, into the town centre.

No more crab apple crop, amazing apple crop from a damaged tree which is barely as tall as me – and the rest of the garden for that matter, blackberries out the back, a friend so close it would take her less than five minutes to get her dog, put on some boots and arrive to accept her glass of wine, sit down for a chat, and collect a bit of spare cauliflower cheese for her supper

Swapped for new neighbours who have been charming and have not objected to the skip in front of our new house and builders coming and going, kitchens being delivered etc etc.

Old pale blue leather sofas ( and before you wince, they looked nice) which had lived with us in London, Brussels, Paris and deepest Sussex for a new olive green fabric one which, as we won’t, won’t be going anywhere else.

No more picking up old country furniture in auctions, and having a collection of furniture more appropriate to a 1980s house – except for one or two things, see blog on samovars for example.

And trying to design everything to meet the needs of a disabled BB without anyone thinking they have walked into a house which has raided a local old people’s home for white plastic aids. ( see previous and no doubt future blogs on that….)

But the biggest difference is no Jessie.

There were three in this marriage which was fine by us, more than fine.

I had frequently said that I wouldn’t move until the dog died but she was fine, and then another year of fine and fit and happy and still wanted a bounce on the bed.

She was miserable as the packing started and went on and she went into refusing food which was not Jess at all.

Turns out it was more than misery, so we had her gently put to sleep.

The night before we moved out. 

She was cutting it fine, and wasn’t the most tactful of dogs so I think it was more refusing to leave the home she had known for her life since she was 12 weeks old, and that was a long time ago.

Meanwhile, as I desert Deepest Sussex for the new world of Hampshire ( yes I lied it was never really deep Sussex, only two miles from the Hampshire border) you will be hearing a lot more about future-proofing design and how we or don’t make it work – always assuming of course you continue reading, dear reader.