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johnny9fingersOkay.
SWMBO is three months pregnant. I've seen the scans. He/She/Whatever is alive and kicking, and we have a minimal risk ratio for Downs: 1 in 1546, against which the background risk for lasses Fred's age is 1 in 77. Aren't statistics a wonderful thing, bigod.
Given that I call her Fred and she calls me Fred we've named the child 'the Fredlet' for now. (English relationships are such odd things: I've never before had the same nickname as any partner: and I have no idea where Fred came from, or which of us called the other it first, but I suspect it was me. I'm like that, you see. SWMBO trumped my ace, damn her, by then reciprocating in kind. Now you can see why I married her.)
So we put a bid in for the house. Final bids, sealed envelopes sort of thing.
We bid the asking price: £699,500.
Turns out so did the other couple.
The odd thing was the sellers seemed to like us more than the other couple. Fantastic. Because we've got it we're prepared to take a bit of a beating on Madame's house. Stretched close to the limit for now, but things will eventually get easier. Alas, I can't unlock my capital for some indeterminate time, but even so we'll cope. I mean, I'll be saving her a nanny's fee for a bit, and also her partnership may finally recognise her worth. And, thank the gods, we aren't badly off: I know of chums who are close to parlous states in these trying times.
Strewth.
A chum of mine paid over a mill for a place built in 1880 with six or so bedrooms and rooms in which a grand piano would be unimposing in Dorking that is quite spectacular, but needs a bit of work. We're not yet in that league if we shall ever be. I mean, what if the little blighter wants to go to boarding school: as and when all these Harry Potter weaned juveniles demand the upper-middle-class equivalent of the pair of ridiculously expensive and frivolous trainers or the latest X-box virtual reality slaughterfest?
I shall give it the X-box of its generation in the hope it grows up unable to read, and therefore will not present me with such extravagant fancies. Oops, did I say that aloud?
SWMBO is three months pregnant. I've seen the scans. He/She/Whatever is alive and kicking, and we have a minimal risk ratio for Downs: 1 in 1546, against which the background risk for lasses Fred's age is 1 in 77. Aren't statistics a wonderful thing, bigod.
Given that I call her Fred and she calls me Fred we've named the child 'the Fredlet' for now. (English relationships are such odd things: I've never before had the same nickname as any partner: and I have no idea where Fred came from, or which of us called the other it first, but I suspect it was me. I'm like that, you see. SWMBO trumped my ace, damn her, by then reciprocating in kind. Now you can see why I married her.)
So we put a bid in for the house. Final bids, sealed envelopes sort of thing.
We bid the asking price: £699,500.
Turns out so did the other couple.
The odd thing was the sellers seemed to like us more than the other couple. Fantastic. Because we've got it we're prepared to take a bit of a beating on Madame's house. Stretched close to the limit for now, but things will eventually get easier. Alas, I can't unlock my capital for some indeterminate time, but even so we'll cope. I mean, I'll be saving her a nanny's fee for a bit, and also her partnership may finally recognise her worth. And, thank the gods, we aren't badly off: I know of chums who are close to parlous states in these trying times.
Strewth.
A chum of mine paid over a mill for a place built in 1880 with six or so bedrooms and rooms in which a grand piano would be unimposing in Dorking that is quite spectacular, but needs a bit of work. We're not yet in that league if we shall ever be. I mean, what if the little blighter wants to go to boarding school: as and when all these Harry Potter weaned juveniles demand the upper-middle-class equivalent of the pair of ridiculously expensive and frivolous trainers or the latest X-box virtual reality slaughterfest?
I shall give it the X-box of its generation in the hope it grows up unable to read, and therefore will not present me with such extravagant fancies. Oops, did I say that aloud?
