I’m sitting on my inner city balcony, checking out the skyline. In a little while, I might stroll in to town to see a movie, pick up some pad thai, or maybe take a promenade by the lake. The whole thing is so chic it hurts.
At least, this could be me, sometime soon. River God and I are looking at buying Property – at the moment, an inner city apartment – each of us with our own dream of car-free urban living and sky-rocketing rental income. That’s what property does to you – it turns you into a real-estate dreamer, just the sort of person an agent likes to see wander in over their brochure-strewn threshhold. The question is,what exactly is the dream, and do we want it?
Are we going to be living The Good Life on our country estate, surrounded by rescue donkeys and lavender plantations? Or are we going to be inner city hipsters? We can’t do both (can we?). Are we going to live cosily in our little place round the corner from the blues bar – or are we going to rent our love nest out to strangers? Are we going to be scared to read the property section of the paper in five years’ time – or are we going to have trouble wiping off our smug smiles? Will River God have long since fled, due to uppity teenage kids (mine) and dogs who pee on the verandah (also mine)? Will I be glad to see him go, so I can sleep in for a change?
What’s your dream and if you got it, are you sure you’d want it? Is your dream by any chance a book for Christmas? If it is, you should head over to Smorgasbord for some pointers about what to read – my personal favourite is Bertram & Gertrude’s Steamy Amsterdam Weekend.