Poor Miss M. Since I’ve been looking for a house to buy, she’s accompanied me on so many inspections I’ve lost count. She’s managed to remain unemotional about any of the houses, although she was quite sad when we didn’t get the first one I truly fell in love with, possibly due to my being so distraught by it.

So she’s seen rental properties, properties I was looking to buy on my own, and now properties I’m looking to buy with my brother. It’s interesting to see what attracts her to a house - the first one she loved because of the fireplace and floorboards in the front room. The second, white revolving bar stools, which I had to stress didn’t come with the house if we did manage to buy it. Last weekend we saw a house with an outdoor bathroom and toilet (super appealing in the most freezing, wet winter we’ve had in years), and I asked her if she could handle the idea of us getting a house with outside amenities.

She looked at the bathroom and said “Mummy, I LOVE this bathroom. That shower curtain is just like the one from the Simpsons”. It made me laugh, because she wasn’t even phased by the rickety nature of anything out there. She also picked out the best bedroom, declaring “this is my room”. My brother and I just exchanged looks - both of us had been thinking exactly the same thing.

Today we went back to look at the property again, with the idea of making a low offer before the auction. Miss M took one of the floorplans, and made her way around like a total pro, pointing out features and potential problems. She was right about everything.

Later we had a look at another house, similar in some ways to the first. It had a lot of the features we were looking for - three bedrooms, garden, parking, separate living room and kitchen, but was severely lacking in charm. Miss M (again with floor plan in hand) walked into each room, critiquing the colour (”hideous”), wallpaper (”this is a paint fest waiting to happen”), and the ambiance (”it smells in here, Mummy”). She did give a thumbs up to the side lane, because “we could take our bikes down here. And the bins”. Good to see she’s on top of our waste disposal needs!

When we were walking away, James and I were discussing the house. I couldn’t really put my finger on what was wrong, but I felt no connection to the place at all. There was a lot of work to be done, but nowhere near as much as the place we’d gone back to in the morning and still I liked it a lot less. I asked Miss M what she thought as we got in the car. She shook her head sadly. “Too many cons, Mummy. Far, far too many cons”. She emphasised her statement by scrunching up the floorplan. “Let’s get the one we saw this morning”.

So I’m thinking of sending her into any other properties we’re interested in on her own, as I wait in James’ car drinking coffee. She can look around, ask hard questions of the real estate agent, crunch some numbers, then tell me whether the place is worth checking out or not. I figure an eight year old’s commission could probably be paid in chocolate bars - then maybe I could sneak a couple while she wasn’t looking.

Today I’m loving: all the crosses against other people’s names on the real estate agent’s sheet.