I think I may have just bought a house. Well possibly. Maybe. Providing a thousand details don’t go into TITSUP mode and it all falls over.
At the end of the process Mrs S and I hope to be the proud owner of five acres of land and a reasonable house in a nice area. Whether this happens or not is in the lap of the Gods, our Structural Engineer and the conveyancing solicitors. Who are, surprise, surprise, all on feckin holiday.
Now I don’t resent this because we all need a break from what Mrs S refers to as “All this silliness.” Well, she’s a teacher, what do you expect? These holidays delay the process, but fortunately the Irish, being the sensible people they are, take this into account. Money will move, people will do their job and hopefully we’ll all be golden. Hopefully.
The rest of our global family are planning for a large get together when all these ridiculous COVID restrictions are over. We haven’t had a real gathering of the clan since before my father in law died. Happy days. Maybe when the politicians stop panicking maybe the good times will come again.
In the meantime Mrs S has been bombarding me with questions about what we’re going to do with the land (Erm…Dunno) and what are the regulations (Not A Clue) until my head spins. To which my response is; “That’s what I’m going to learn.” It’s all very well to ask all these damn questions, but if you’re not going to help me find the answers, give me a break already. We haven’t even properly bought the bloody place yet.
Notwithstanding. On the quiet, I have a fancy to retire and take up beekeeping. Become an Apiarist. Plant out the bottom acre furthest from the house with Roses and Fuchsias and a couple of types of fruit tree as a ready source of nectar. Stick the beehives in a little clearing in the middle. It might mean having to wear a Hazmat suit when working at that end of the property, but why not? Might even take up brewing Mead. Work it on a batch production system and perhaps sell my produce once a year to a specialist wholesaler. Or mail order only. Save all the fuss of navigating the byzantine health regulations. Mrs S could make candles from the wax, as I know that’s something she’s likes doing. She’s always liked candles. Again. Mail order or via Amazon marketplace. Or eBay.
The hives would act as their own security, and the site I would choose for them is surrounded by Maythorn and Blackthorn trees a good two hundred metres from any road in mostly livestock country. Very little pesticide spraying. Hell, might even go ‘organic’ and charge twice the price.
Well, I can dream can’t I? Might all fall apart, but that’s no reason not to give it the old rugby try. For the first time in a good long age I’m starting to get fired up over an idea. Well I never.