A moving story 

One of the things which has kept Mrs WeeKeef and I busy since the start of the year is house-hunting.

Not for ourselves you understand. We are very happy in the Lovenest and plan to be there some time yet. In fact, we are starting to plan Phase 4 of the improvements.

No, this is for our respective elderlies. In part because there is a strong body of opinion (ie everybody except the Mater) that said Mater should seriously downsize, accommodation-wise. That is a story for another day.

More immediately, the Ma-in-Law decided at the start of 2015 that it was time to move a bit closer to us than her current 500 mile remove.

And so we two have been looking at retirement properties – not homes, not hospitals – in the past few months. We’ve seen nice ones and we’ve seen less nice ones, and two things are certain: it’s a growing market, and blimey the good ones go quickly. You have to pounce, and have plenty of the folding stuff to back up your outlandish offer. You also have to be pretty thick-skinned  when people keep asking if we’re buying for ourselves.

Anyway, sales were done, pouncing was pounced, and a nice property has been purchased not 3 miles from our front door.

And so I am currently sitting on a train heading south to the lovely Sussex town of Rye where, over the next few days, we will pack up a house and a life – and Mrs WK’s childhood memories – and bring it all north to Edinburgh.

It’s a big decision and there will be lots of hard work and a few traumas over the next few days (and weeks). There have been tears already. But I’m thinking it’s the right decision, and there are worse places to end up.

And of course, there’s the irony that, had things gone rather differently exactly a year ago to the day, it might have been Mrs WeeKeef and I who were packing up and moving south.

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