Of course, it wasn't 'just like that' at all. There were tears, tantrums, endless trips to Wickes and visits to friends, and much late night tidying and sorting and painting.
But the photographer came (and was here for hours, and made our home look beautiful), and the next day we had a for sale sign in the garden (after a brief period of it being in someone else's garden, which must have been quite alarming for them).
On the first day of viewings the sun shone obligingly, and even I couldn't quite believe how well the house looked. The third person to view went straight to the estate agents and offered, and it was her offer we accepted in the end (after much to-ing and fro-ing between us and with other people - I've never had so many phone calls in my life).
We've found an alternative, but it needs a lot of work. A two hundred year old cottage in a national park, with peeling wallpaper, mouldy carpets and a slightly precarious roof. And a greenhouse, woodland, outbuildings and a beautiful view.
We've put in an offer, and are keeping our fingers crossed.
But we're getting there. This waiting is hard, but being able to sit still makes a nice change from painting and plastering and gluing and sticking. At least while we wait we can drink tea, and see friends, and rest. And, of course, investigate questions like 'are you allowed to replace metal framed windows in a national park?' and 'just how much does it cost to put in a new heating system?' I'm going to know so many things when all this is over.
I'll miss this little garden when we leave. I might look back at pictures from when I first moved here and see how far we've come. It feels like it looks after itself now (apart from the willow), and now I have a bit more time, I can just sit out there and read.
Our new garden, if all goes to plan, will be much bigger, and no doubt I'll be marvelling and cursing in equal measure about that. But for now, I'll just sit and wait, with as much patience as I can muster.