There's a lot to be said for a house with hydrangeas, Christmas Bush and frangipanis growing in the garden. We've spent the past few days at our new place; making plans, organising paint, taking down the heavy, pink curtains and mahogany curtain rails. Yesterday the owner of house was there with a local carpenter and together they cleared up the garden, re-grouted the kitchen and introduced us to the neighbours (all of whom are in their eighties and nineties - clearly it's a street renowned for longevity). I admit, for the past few weeks I've been quite apprehensive about this move. Seven-and-a-half years in one house (the house I have brought two babies home to) creates a definite sense of attachment. The kids are feeling the same and I have no doubt that a period of adjustment will be waiting for us once we shift. Every time I step into the new house with its beautiful timber floors and countless 1940s windows, I feel more ready to make it home. It's not without its faults (let's just say that the kitchen is higgeldy piggeldy and will require me to simplify even further that I did this spring) but the good far outweighs the bad. And if I'm honest, it's hard to complain when I can see the ocean and listen to its distinct roar come bedtime. Salt air is waiting.