Not long ago I left a house I loved to move into a house I could, maybe one day, love. What a wrench that was! 14 months later and I still pine for the high ceilings of Jackson Street, the tidy rooms and cream walls, the fact that I had enough furniture to fill the house and it felt like home.

But we had outgrown it. Our home was starting to feel cramped. We had had our first child and were preparing for the second one’s arrival. It was our time to move on. Now, I live in a house in which every room is nearly finished. There is something left to be sealed, hung on the wall, painted or cleaned in every room. It’s actually driving me crazy. I often sit and wonder when will it feel finished? When will at least one room feel DONE? People always say it takes a long time to make a house a home – but how long? When will the building dust, and with it my mind, settle?

Anyone who has moved house into a bit of project will understand I’m sure. I’m trying to be careful not to see passed the mess and the random holes in the walls for fear that they will become ‘normal’. I’d hate to think that this state of ‘nearlyness’ could become permanent. Cunningly, (or at least I think so) I move the piles of mess now and then so that one of us trips up! This acts as a sort of kick up the backside for both me and my husband. It reminds us this stuff needs a place to live!

However, despite the frustrations and my impatience, there is of course always the issue of finance. One thing at a time because that’s all we can afford. This in itself is a killer for me because I’m not good at waiting for anything.

But, as I flick through the parish newsletter having ordered my husband to put another box in the loft before work; I notice the sunshine highlighting all of the dust on the kitchen surfaces (despite having wiped them once this morning already) and instead of feeling defeated, I feel positive that this village and this house will feel like home… Eventually!