How much for your stuff?

An interesting thing happened in Bogan-ville-ea today.

We held a garage sale. You know, that thing you do when you're moving to the other side of Australia and your life's about to be packed into a shipping crate?

Nice sign huh? It took me almost a minute to make. Some guy tried to buy it at 7:10 this morning. I resisted the urge. Told him to come back at 2pm if he really wanted it. 



We're not really garage sale people. We don't consider garage sales a major hobby or spend Saturdays driving around looking at other people's crap in case there's a treasure to be found. Our effort involved an ad in the Saturday paper (minimum charge of course, being tight-arses) and an old corkboard with 'garage sale' painted in hot pink landscaper's marking paint. 

We did realise that people would start arriving early. 6 am is a little ridiculous though and we ignored the drive-bys until we'd crawled out of bed at a quarter to 7. Coffee in one hand, 'float' in the other, out we went into our garage to find out how much our stuff is worth.

Which is... next to nothing, apparently.

OK, we made a bit, and really, we didn't expect that anyone would really want things like Kaitlin's Barbie car, an old record player (yes, we're old enough to own one) and a book called 'China - Land of Eternity'. But I did kind of expect that people might want a spare TV (or three), a printer, a chest of drawers or a bookshelf.



I really needed a belly laugh today and some of the Garage Sale antics were priceless. Like Kaitlin negotiating a price for dress-up fairy wings with a three year old. And Brad farewelling his Lego Ferrari to a kid called Bailey. A (potentially gay, but no proof) Indian couple who asked if they could go inside and see our bed in case they wanted to buy it. Me selling the massive Antler suitcases we took to America (true, they survived LAX, but really, they ARE the size of a small fridge) and realising I hadn't emptied them out properly and so quickly tipping little bottles of hotel shampoo out onto the driveway. A lovely Fijian family trying to fit out a house on the cheap. And, of course, Tasha putting on a show for entertainment (I think it's a good look having your dog laying a turd whilst you're trying to sell your tele... good look...noice).

I nicknamed Brad 'Shopkeeper Sam'. Whilst I sat on a chair typing and doing some work (and checking Facebook), he stood, literally, the whole time behind a chest of drawers manning the shop. People would come in and he'd be like "make an offer" and start the process. He's a legend! I kept apologising for our stuff, like, "ohhhhh sorry about that dent" and he was talking everything up. One guy asked if he had any old pennies (weird question...) and Brad said, "Yeah actually, I do" and ran off, got them and sold them! At one point I thought I might have been for sale too!!!

With our neighbours agreeing to take the last of our crap off our hands 'for the rumpus room, you know, in the future if we ever get one', we settled in to take stock of what's left that we won't need. Brad's photographing my shoes to sell on Ebay (yes, there are STILL excess shoes... they're coming out of EVERYWHERE!!!). My car will be sold after Christmas (after that 'oopsie' on the bumper bar's fixed). The house goes on the market after Australia Day (we've already knocked back a pre-offer of half a million...so apparently it will sell pretty quickly). Then, I guess I resign, the packing people come and off we go.

So, as the Mastercard ad would say: used suitcase - $30'. Selling your old crap to strangers: priceless!

Brad gets an 'A' for Mathematics.

I'm fairly sure i'm meant to be an heiress.


My dad calls it champagne taste on a beer budget. And I have it. I like my little luxuries. I like cruise ships instead of bus tours. I don't buy cheap perfume. Yes... I'm prone to buying mangoes and cherries. And i DO NOT camp. Ever.

This champagne taste personality flaw kicked in the absolute second we started thinking about building a house.

It's actually quite simple to buy a block of land. We went to see the insipid Bank Dude, proved we're viable, flogged some extra bank pens and fridge magnets for later....signed a few forms.... and ta da! Welcome to land ownership. OK, so we still hadn't actually seen the land at this stage, but we had it on good authority that it exists (It's on the Internet ok?)

It all comes down to numbers.

Choices in life. All numbers. At least that how it seems for us at the moment. There are some seriously cool house plans out there. And who knew we actually NEED something called a 'media room'? How many storeys do we want? Do we want split level? Do we want an 'activity centre' attached to the spare bedroom? An '1800' length bath? Good grief! It's nice to be lost in fantasy land temporarily and pretend we have 'the numbers' to afford a funky mansion with a Zen courtyard plunge pool and a third storey balcony overlooking the waterfall...

So, a couple of phone calls to family later and apparently it actually IS true that I'm not an heiress. They weren't waiting until now to tell me. They had meant it when i was a teenager and threw a tantrum and demanded to know whether a) I'm adopted, and b) I'm actually an heiress and will come into money at some stage. No on both counts apparently. How boringly normal and middle class of me. BTW, Is there some sort of system where you make a reservation to be born a Hilton? Never mind, the block's not big enough to accommodate an enormous house anyway. And as everyone who can't have a huge house says... just IMAGINE the CLEANING!

The other magic number to consider when choosing our house plan was the number 'zero'. Zero, in Mountford Mathematical terms being the amount of debt we choose to have after selling up in Canberra, buying land, building a house and getting our kit and caboodle across Australia. Zero. Zero. Zero. Not ONE cent more.

So, suddenly Brad's a mathematician. He's possessed. Within a week our Canberra abode had been valued by half a dozen people (just to be sure), the moving costs calculated with several companies and a list of things called 'contingencies' constructed. Yeah, I know... I'm meant to be helping, but quite frankly, I was the one lost in 'media room' and 'Zen courtyard plunge pool' frenzy. Stupid 'zero'. Stupid 'not being an heiress'...

So here it is. The house plan we shall call 'Zero'. It has the all important 'media room', which i have now figured out is just modern Bogan-speak for Lounge Room. Doh!

http://www.collierhomes.com.au/residentabode/norwood.htm

It's ok huh? I mean really... if i need to check my chakra and Zen out, I can just play in the bath with a scented candle and home waxing kit from Target like any other good Bogan chick!

So, before you can say 'sustainable bamboo flooring and limestone double-brick' we've got ourselves a house plan!

They're moving to Botswana...or something...

It's not that we don't like Canberra.

Really. Canberra's become like a favourite pair of shoes to us. Comfy. Well worn. Doesn't look real crash hot several years after purchase, but at least you can still walk (mostly) without bits falling off or people staring at you.

It's not even that we're sick of explaining where we're from:
(Random yank): "So... where y'all frahhhhhhmmmm?"
(Us, rolling eyes - here we go again): "Canberra."
R.Y: "Cannnnada? Great mountains!"
Us: "No..., CAN-BER-RA, Australia."
R.Y: "Cannnnnberrrrrrahhhhhhh... never heard of it."
Us (irritated): It's the capital. Kind of like your Washington D.C., except with much less impact".
R.Y.: "No, the capital of Oz-tray-leeeeeahhhh is Syd-en-y."
Us: No really. It's Canberra. We know. We bloody well LIVE THERE!!!!"

Ok, we're a little sick of explaining where we're from. But that's no reason to move.

Why then?

It happened like this. Brad and I were discussing the lack of a beach in Canberra. And the winter. And our mortgage. And me going back to studying... on... umm.... the beach perhaps. Which led to the 'what do we REALLY want?' talk. Which was quite simple and brief. Brad wanted money, to be present for family events, travel, outdoors lifestyle and a jetski. I wanted to quit work and study on the beach. Easy. We looked at each other, opened up the laptop and Googled blocks of land near Brad's family events, a beach, good uni's, a cruise port & international airport and lots of money. Voila! Welcome to Mandurah, Western Australia. It's south of Perth. There's bits kind of all attached to Perth up and down the coast. We thought about it for a bit, then did as any stable couple does... purchase a block of land on the Internet, sight unseen (well, there were pictures on the screen...and Google Earth really is quite helpful...)



It sounds a bit nuts, doesnt it? I mean, it's 'over there'. Western Australia! As one of my astute friends (who happens to be a psychologist) commented, we may as well be moving to Botswana. It's OVER THERE. On 'the other side'. Practically not even part of the civilised world... right??? I know Brad's from there and he seems to have turned out alright and managed in the outside world, but there are some QUITE peculiar things about Western Australia. None of these are an issue when you visit every couple of years, but living there... hmmm...


Right then.
Analyse.
Kick that highly tuned brain and years (and years) of education into action. Make a list. Prove to friend I am not moving to Botswana...or something.

Great things about Mandurah, Western Australia list:

* Has a beach to study on. Can also walk dog on beach with a leash apparently. Very nice. Tash might like to surf. Should consider feelings of family Dalmatian. Supermodel-in-the-making teenager also likes beach and can go to a high school that has surfing and marine biology in the curriculum.
* Our house in Canberra is worth heaps. Just by living here we've made HEAPS. Enough to sell it, move, build a house and be debt free.
* Debt free = Tez no workie. TEZ NO WORK anymore? Seriously? I'd just about move to fecking Botswana for THAT.
* Family events for Brad to attend (yes, I'll go too... I have shoes for these sort of things you know...) We'll be the 'Weddings, Parties, Anything' couple. Brad has three older brothers, two sisters-in-law (at last count) all with multiple (tall, big-footed) offspring. Sounds expensive...
* Which brings us to money. On the last Aussie Census form we actually listed our religion as Capitalism. Yes, really. We ACTUALLY wrote it. It's like going to A.A: "Hi, we're Brad and Terri and we like money..." We don't, like, do weird stuff, like smell it (much), so much as like what we can do with money. And there's LOTS of it 'over there'. I don't think you get it stuff in your mailbox or anything, but there's a LOT of building going on, projects ripe for our talented landscaper to harvest.
* Which brings us to travel. There's a cruise port at Fremantle, which is kind of up the road. And an international airport. They even fly to Africa in case i want to see the real Botswana. And you can 'just pop to' some really cool places in W.A. Think Margaret River, that dolphin place, that cool snorkelling place... El Questro anyone???





* And, of course, the jetski. Few people know this... Brad has a 'jetski' thing. And he really can drive one. He once ran over a turtle hooning along at 70km/per hour off Brampton Island. We've jetski-ed. I kind of hang on for a bit, then he dumps me off and takes off cackling that rev-head laugh. When asked what he wanted for his 40th birthday last year, he replied, "to jet ski off the Mexican coast". We know it isn't normal ok? Just go with it i say. The man's going to be the breadwinner. He can have a jet ski.



Sounding pretty good actually. What's the down side?
* When you watch the weather report the ocean's on the wrong side of the land. Small thing, but quite unsettling.
* It's three hours behind the Eastern Coast... but it feels more like 10 years. I did notice a Wittner shoe store on a website for a posh shopping centre, so maybe they're catching up a little.
* There's no Aldi. I KNOW! no Aldi!! THERE'S NO BLOODY ALDI!!!
* I'll be getting the Sydney Sunday Telegraph newspaper on Monday afternoon (and then only if i order it). Not that the TV Guide will be relevant anymore. But it's a THING you know? I've been getting this paper before 11am on a Sunday since I could, like, read. I probably learned to read early in life SO that i could read the Sunday Telegraph.
* We have to leave our Canberra friends... (yeah, i put that in to check if you've read this far... they're not known for their patience most of them...)


So then. The Mountfords are 'going west'. Well... life is peaceful there! (tragic 80's song...) It's a done deal. We're even thinking of enrolling Tash the Dalmatian in swimming lessons in preparation for her beachside lifestyle.


Welcome to our new adventure. We'll blog the details, from the land, the building of a house, the move, the aftershock, and hopefully along the way share a few laughs in the search for...



Happily.
Ever.
After.