so the ongoing saga of buying a house which has consumed the periphery of our wee family nucleus ended in comic death throws. The agent appeared at the front door with the final offer, for 5000 more we could have the house, and they'd throw in . . .
the sandpit.
he mediated between us and the seller, who was kept at a safe distance on the other side of a phone call, in what seemed like 5 year olds in the play ground trying to barter lunch for toys. The fact that a deal worth over half a million could be decided by a sandpit ??!! So then there was a back and forthing of what furniture or "chattel" we could procure with the house, which turned out only to amount in a dryer, and yes the sandpit, which we don't even want. Though Danielles mum tried to push for some African chairs, which Danielle promptly protested for trying to steal their identity (the seller was African).
and so now we have a house
and sandpit
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