The concept of a house
I think I'm finally 'getting' the idea of living in a house. They may be just walls and spaces, but occupying a complete building is fundamentally different to apartment life, and after a year I'm starting to enjoy it. (Even if the renovation cost has averaged nearly a grand a month.) Take these thoughts:
Division of space. For a decade I lived in essentially the same room as my mountain bike. This three-storey townhouse is smaller than my last two apartments, but it seems larger, because with three floors to choose from you can create a real division of use. The ground floor's a shrine to Triathlon, with two bikes and assorted other gear hanging on the walls; the middle floor's for living on, and I go upstairs to sleep or relax on the terrace. Moving between floors I can switch into a different mode, instead of trying to concentrate on everything in the same space. Suits my segmented mind well.
Making it mine. In the last year I've experienced the pure joy of designing and installing my dream kitchen - at least within the constraints of a 1.5m x 3m space. A brand-new five ring cooker, a thick work surface, cool white minimalist cabinets that go all the way up. It's been in six months and I still stroke the worktop every day. It's made me a much better cook (although I admit the only way was up.)
Owning a freehold. There's a real difference between owning a certain amount of floorspace several floors up, and actually owning the land your home stands on; if the house falls down, you've hardly lost a thing. (In London the cost of land far outweighs the cost of actually building anything.) It may be tiny, but it's mine.
Low service fees. This may be a private mews, but even here the service fees are just a couple of hundred squids a year; compare that to any reasonable private apartment, where £2000 a year is just the starting point. It may buy you a pool and security at the gate, butthink what else you could do with £200 a month.
Getting into DIY. In flat after flat I lived in fear of the boiler going phut or the electricity throwing a wobbler; the last place I lived in the fusebox was a hundred metres away. Owning a house forces you to learn more about this stuff. Never manually minded, I can now wire a plug, lay a floor, paint a wall. There's a sense of satisfaction in knowing you can fix stuff yourself.
Division of space. For a decade I lived in essentially the same room as my mountain bike. This three-storey townhouse is smaller than my last two apartments, but it seems larger, because with three floors to choose from you can create a real division of use. The ground floor's a shrine to Triathlon, with two bikes and assorted other gear hanging on the walls; the middle floor's for living on, and I go upstairs to sleep or relax on the terrace. Moving between floors I can switch into a different mode, instead of trying to concentrate on everything in the same space. Suits my segmented mind well.
Making it mine. In the last year I've experienced the pure joy of designing and installing my dream kitchen - at least within the constraints of a 1.5m x 3m space. A brand-new five ring cooker, a thick work surface, cool white minimalist cabinets that go all the way up. It's been in six months and I still stroke the worktop every day. It's made me a much better cook (although I admit the only way was up.)
Owning a freehold. There's a real difference between owning a certain amount of floorspace several floors up, and actually owning the land your home stands on; if the house falls down, you've hardly lost a thing. (In London the cost of land far outweighs the cost of actually building anything.) It may be tiny, but it's mine.
Low service fees. This may be a private mews, but even here the service fees are just a couple of hundred squids a year; compare that to any reasonable private apartment, where £2000 a year is just the starting point. It may buy you a pool and security at the gate, butthink what else you could do with £200 a month.
Getting into DIY. In flat after flat I lived in fear of the boiler going phut or the electricity throwing a wobbler; the last place I lived in the fusebox was a hundred metres away. Owning a house forces you to learn more about this stuff. Never manually minded, I can now wire a plug, lay a floor, paint a wall. There's a sense of satisfaction in knowing you can fix stuff yourself.
posted by chrisworth at 2:25 PM
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