The first time that we saw the house had been about 18 months earlier. We loved it then in an unrequited way. It was for sale, but I'd just changed jobs so we weren't buying. But we'd loved it and had put in an offer, only to withdraw it later.
And there it was, back on the market. "Hey look", I said one evening browsing the real estate for sale websites "that restored post office is back on the market."
A week or two later Amy and I were still convincing ourselves that it was all wrong for us. After all we'd nearly bought it before and decided that it was all wrong. And it was a week or two later. Probably the best thing was to have a look at it again and get it out of our respective systems.
Sure.
So on a Sunday morning there we were, meeting a different real estate agent out the front of The House. He was the only thing that had changed. The tenants who really didn't like us looking through the house were still there, still trying to make us uncomfortable still and hoping we wouldn't buy.
And the house was still right for us. Built somewhere around the 1890s as the Post Office and Post Masters residence for a town halfway between Geelong and Ballarat. All the restoration work was done. The post office business had moved to the general store down the street about 15 years earlier, so the former post office made for an additional room.
This town was more like us. Close to Geelong, and not too far from work. New people moving in - not former farmers, but people moving out from the larger towns. Friendly - hugely friendly. People waved. Said hello. Two pubs - both of them working. Football, cricket and netball clubs - but also a tiny and active historical society. Churches - but there was a local psychic advertising a show at the local cafe. And the most marginal ALP electorate in Australia. Not entrenched conservatives - a swinging electorate.
We made an offer, the owner accepted it and we went back to the town that didn't want us and began to pack.
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