To be honest, it's often hard for me too, and I've been living in Dublin for almost four years now. An open fire, a tiny yard, and my own front door are the current extent of my fantasies, but because these are now possible, modest though they are, they're every bit as seductive to me as the gracious Victorian house, lawn, trees, and scores of rosebushes that I inhabited in my childhood fantasies. Two weeks into my search, I was viewing two properties on the trot, both handled by the same agent. There was a couple viewing them too, and we arrived on the second doorstep at the same time. Talk ensued about how long we had all been looking.
Houses are like cars.
You can only test-drive so many before you get fed up and just go for whatever you see next. I don't happen to agree with that view, but I can understand the frustration that lies behind it. Houses are like cars in some respects, however - the tiny size. I viewed one sweet-looking cottage which was about as bijou as it's possible to be without being in a toyshop. Opening the back door to the scrap of yard, I rose a few startled inches in the air as a large brown bunny with long floppy ears bolted past me.