As well as posting my adventures as long haul cabin crew in the form of Suzi, ( Love, Suzi x) I’m going to update you with my recent adventures. This is an excerpt of a book I’m writing called, From London to Lewes, about how my family and I changed our lives.

This is our story:-

After a lifetime of London living, an urban family, used to the conveniences of the city try adapting to life in the country. Where on earth do we think of moving to and how insane are we to even consider it?

About the same time as the momentous mealtime, Nick returned from a project in Lewes one day, enthusiastic about its charms.  I accompanied him on his next visit, and was immediately enraptured as I wandered down the High Street. Lewes’s unique character in its jumble of attractive architecture and individual shops convinced me that it had all that we were looking for in a town. 

Dansk: Udsigt over Lewes fra Lewes Castle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

          Once the decision to move had been made I attacked the problem of finding a home with vigour. Changing lifestyles ultimately meant that I could also change jobs. A large semi Victorian House already set up for Bed and Breakfast popped onto the screen. I’m sociable. I’m organised. I’m willing to work hard. What if we pushed the boat right out and saddled ourselves with a massive mortgage but ran a business at the same time that should help us pay it off?  It was one way of getting the kind of property that dreams are made of and, living in a beautiful, if touristy Sussex village. I chose my moment to run the idea past Nick.

        ‘You can still do what you’re doing but I could give up teaching and run the B & B,’ I argued. ‘Anytime I have left over I could concentrate on my writing. Anyway if I get stretched, the children can help.’ It sounded black and white to me but not one to make a decision in haste; I not only bought a book about it but I spoke to a friend with her own B & B about what was really like.

   ‘On the good side,’ she offered not too enthusiastically. ‘We would never have such a beautiful home in such a wonderful part of the country if we didn’t let out the rooms. But it is such a restriction on your life and do you really want strangers tramping through your home?’ Her parting words of, ‘I can’t make the decision for you but I would think carefully about how you want your life to be,’ should have set the alarm bells ringing, but I became momentarily deaf.

       I’m convinced that our house chose us. With only four months left before Jo had to start her courses at college (a testimony to my faith that I would move to Lewes that we enrolled her in the first place) my dreams of moving from London’s suburbs to a life in the country were beginning to fade. Our dream of running a B & B had sadly failed abysmally. The Gods had obviously seen my cooking skills and decided to save the masses from my attempts at full English breakfast, regardless of my championing local produce. After finding the perfect B & B property we made an offer and were at the discussing fixtures and fittings stage when the vendor pulled out. Not to be discouraged in my attempt to spend my days changing beds and folding my towels into threes so I could tell if they had been used, I then pursued two more properties with B & B possibilities, compromising on location and budget with a capital C and B.

          With gazumping fast becoming part of my new vocabulary, I started to take the hint and re-visited our original brief. We wanted to live in Lewes, in a house with character that needed renovating and, fundamental for me, a view. I continued to search. With the danger of becoming an internet stalker, I clicked on pictures of other people’s sitting rooms and kitchens, main bedrooms and guest bedrooms, oohing and ahing as I tried to find the perfect pad.

         Time went by. Zero results. I allowed myself to relax the boundaries of our initial requirements. Okay so it didn’t have to be in Lewes exactly. A village outside would do. So character wasn’t that important. I could always add my own. So I wanted a view. Now that was a tricky one. I was happy to compromise on a lot of things but sometimes a girl can be pushed too far. A view was staying.

       But I had not reckoned on fate. Not that I believe in it, of course! One night while holding a glass of red nectar in one hand and a tissue to wipe the tears of frustration in the other, the perfect house popped onto the screen and into the equation. We arranged a visit. It was late on a Friday afternoon. The estate agents shut at 5.30pm. We made an offer just as they were winding up and waited… the whole weekend… for them to contact the vendor and get back to us.

             Monday morning found me walking the dog with a girlfriend. My phone rang. My heart leapt.

            ‘If you increase your offer to the full asking price, my client says they will accept,’ the voice on the other end stated. There have been a few times in my life when I have spent hundreds of pounds. Cars, holidays, you know, the big things. Then it’s usually in consultation with Nick, followed by a close check as to whether the bank balance will have a heart attack or not.  I’m the kind of girl who has palpitations when out shopping if I’ve exceeded the budget by just a fiver.

             ‘Yes!’ I shouted to the agent. ‘Offer them what they want.’
My girlfriend walking beside me smiled as I clicked the phone shut and did a whoop of joy. ‘My, you’re very free with your £1,000’s,’ she remarked.

             Seven weeks later, paperwork completed, we moved. The removal men dropped a packet of turmeric, (yes I did say turmeric) all over the hall carpet just as the new owners arrived. I found myself sitting in the car outside our old home for three hours while we waited for our two cats to appear. I  watched as the new family unloaded the contents of their removal van into what had been my home for the last twelve years.

Bye,bye…

On the upside, when we finally arrived at our new place, our new neighbours had taken in a delivery of flowers for us and then came and introduced themselves with another bunch of their own. That evening, exhausted but triumphant after making up the beds and finding our toothbrushes we walked across the road to the local pub where it was a pleasant sensation to venture inside and find a table readily available, rather than elbowing our way through a crowd. As the sun set, I stood at the end of the drive and looked at the lights twinkling from the children’s bedrooms, a feeling of excitement and apprehension overwhelmed me; was this really a new beginning or was it all going to be just a huge mistake?

Teresa x

LOVE, SUZI x – letters from a long haul stewardess, available from Amazon.