Home. Home is where the house is. Roads and roads of houses. Roads that carry on.

Due to apparently choosing the worst time in the world to try to sell my house, I've been running with a back up plan.
A plan B. An escape route. A get out clause.
The Lettings Agency that I do some work for had offered to market the house, with a view to renting it out. After a short dose of nothing, things seem to have changed for the better. Yesterday, I was told that somebody has said they want the place and will make arrangements to pay deposits and such forth, even without seeing it. Today, I popped in to see if things were still progressing and was told that a second player has now stepped up to the mark and also wants the place. Apparently it's now just a case of waiting to see who puts their money where their mouth is.
So....I wait.
I don't know anything about this second person, but the one from yesterday is a girl with three kids living in Devon, which is close on 200 miles away. As far as I understand it, she wants to make a clean break from where she is and move a fair distance to make a fresh start for herself and her kids. Of course it would be completely unfair of me to favour this person over the other, considering I know nothing about them, but already I can't help feeling like it's the right thing to do. I could be helping this girl and her kids out.
Anyway....I'm just waiting.

How strange that all this sudden house activity has happened at the same time some bastard stole the "For Rent" board sign from outside the house.