The early part of the 2lst century saw the
beginnings of the 'squeeze'. An economic depression affected most of us and we
became adept at finding ways round things, ducking and diving and planning for
the future in ways that the wartime generation our parents belonged to would
have felt quite at home with.
Living and working in the Netherlands had
accustomed us to a certain way of life that expats come to expect. We lived in
a cushioned little bubble on the whole - English speaking of course - and
enjoyed the best of the rich cultural experience that was offered us in a
multi-cultural and diverse environment. We lived well and we worked hard. We
had a moderately sized house in the midst of a pretty Dutch city. The recession
was a daily reality even there but we managed to limit ourselves to fairly
minor economies and hoped that things would improve. Of course we had a
mortgage. We had moved around too much and bought and sold houses too many
times to have built up any capital or paid off our debts in nice steady chunks
as our parents would have done. A long spell working in the voluntary sector
for what seemed at the time like justifiable altruistic reasons also had an
impact on our financial situation long term.
However, retirement was looming and ill
health made it unwise to delay our move back to our homeland any longer. It was
not the best of times to be planning a big international move but life doesn't
always go quite the way you would ideally want it to. It took us a while to
sell our home. We tried a fresh coat of paint, we decluttered and modernised
and tried to be patient and eventually we struck lucky. However, what you can
buy with the help of a mortgage is somewhat different to what you can manage next
time round without one! Without a job no-one in their right mind was going to
loan us money again - and with the economic crisis fresh in everyone's minds,
no-one was keen to repeat the mistakes that caused it by offering a mortgage to
bad risk clients like ourselves with only a pension to live on.
We talked it over. We planned; we schemed; we
researched on the internet; we watched endless episodes of Escape to the
Country and Homes under the Hammer to gain clues on how to achieve our dream
cottage in the country with the minimum financial outlay. Our goals were
modest, just like everyone else's - the big family kitchen, rural surroundings,
a guest bedroom or two, a substantial garden with an impressive vegetable plot
and a view to die for. Not much really...
Add to that yearnings above our station for a writer's summerhouse in
the garden and an artist's studio where all the mess could remain undisturbed
and the easel and paintbrushes would be ready to roll at a moment's notice, and
we were in over our heads. Not a hope!
Two or three years later, all the planning
stage now seems like a dream. The Big Move turned out to be the Big Squeeze and
left us reeling, feeling a little like we had been squeezed unceremoniously
into a small tube of toothpaste from which we would never escape. Our new home
was in rural surroundings: one of the remotest parts of the UK, with a high
unemployment rate and a challenging lack of facilities. However, the views are
spectacular and the country setting was everything we had dreamed of. Our
kitchen is modest and far from modern, but it has been adequate to the task.
Homemade pies and quiches, crusty loaves, cakes and muffins fill the freezer,
even if there is no space for the dishwasher and baking day necessitates a
degree in logistics to cope with the task in the cramped surroundings
available. The guest bedroom is there if you look hard enough. It contains a
wardrobe (which is always totally filled with the overspill from our own
wardrobes and never has any room for our guests' needs). It contains a sofa
bed, with just enough space to extend it if absolutely necessary. It also
contains a fine artist's studio (easel squashed in the corner by the window,
with a shelf for paints on the wall next to it) and a writer's space (antique
pine desk squashed in next to the easel) with a glorious view out of our back
window to the hummocky green mountain behind our house for those moments of
inspiration.
Behind our row of cottages you will find the
garden. Each tiny cottage has a corresponding tiny garden, not necessarily in
the logical order. The deeds for our cottage are lodged with the solicitor and
contain a carefully drawn map, outlining the quirky details of our estate. We
own a small cottage with a tiny extension, a share in our communal driveway, a
tiny garden, enclosed by green stained fences, with a matching green shed, a
concreted parking space, a grassed over area we like to think of as the lawn,
flower beds and space for an impressive array of flower pots and containers for
a small vegetable plot, if you don't park the car too far back. We also, in
common with all our neighbours, own a minute square of land (now accessible via
a right of way through one of the neighbour's gardens) on which we once boasted
a small outside loo! We also own a useful washing line which cuts diagonally
across the garden from the shed to the fence, where washing can be successfully
hung, with careful attention to the respective length of the garments, avoiding
(hopefully) the courgette plants, back of the car and the garden table and
chairs where we like to eat lunch on sunny days. We have become experts at
multi-functional living and the art of downsizing. Can you fit a quart into a
pint pot? Well, I think the answer would have to be yes.
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