A House

I was hoping I’d be writing this Substack with amazing news—that we’d bought a house. But, of course, I’m writing today about how we did not successfully buy a house.

Even though I watch a zillion real estate shows, and I know that house sales in the UK do not often end in house sales, I was still blindsided. I thought, Surely, this will not happen to me. I’m an American. And not just any American, I am from New Jersey. I can negotiate until my teeth fall out. Which I swear they tried to do after a few weeks of stress. I even put a hole in the mouth guard I have for my bruxism.

But as with many of the deals that are begun on my beloved TV shows, this deal didn’t make it to the exchange of contracts (the second-to-last big step over here).

After the home inspection (or home survey report, as they call it) pointed out the likelihood of asbestos in the ceilings, we had them tested. All of the ceilings had it. What we discovered next was far more baffling. Multiple people told us that it was not “the bad kind” of asbestos, and so we could move forward with the purchase without any kind of abatement. Even the person who tested our ceilings thought there was no need to make any accommodations for us, as long as we never touched the ceilings.

That was the accepted outlook. To buy a house for hundreds of thousands of pounds, and never be able to touch the ceilings. No adding a smoke detector without hiring someone certified to work with asbestos. No adding a hook for a potted plant, or a mobile, or some other piece of art. More practically, the bathroom didn’t have an extractor fan.