That’s IT! I am unsubscribing from Rightmove property alerts, effective immediately.

Two of the four or five local homes that I idolise have gone on the market today. And, no,  we can’t afford either. Not even close.

A couple of times a week, Rightmove send me an email with my chosen search fields of location/price/wow factor and mostly I just scan over them, admire a few bi-fold doors, ponder a few farmhouse kitchens and picture myself in front of a seaview, glass in hand.  Occasionally, an exciting one arrives with a neighbour’s house featured, so I can have a good old nose at their house without even so much as a twitch of a curtain.

Well, this double whammy today has just broken my little heart. Unless I find £1.5 million under the sofa, I won’t get my bed-with-an-estuary-view. My art deco dream will remain in the 1930s. And the closest I will get to a plantation shutter will be peering through windows as I run past in the dark (a little bonus I have discovered, running in the evenings provides excellent house porn opportunities!).

Unsubscribing will mean that I no longer have to waste money on lottery tickets. I won’t stand in the queue at Lloyds TSB, wondering if I could just shout “get on the floor, this is a robbery”. I won’t receive heart-breaking emails any more.

Unsubscribing now.  I really, really am.

In a minute.

I’m clicking unsubscribe now.

Oh, go on then, just one more look. Now, where did I put that balaclava and swag bag?


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