I have found that with most decisions in life, well the biggies anyway, you can usually trace them back to one singular turning point or moment when your mind was suddenly made up and you were no longer for turning. This can be easily remembered for many in the “I knew I was falling in love with him/her when…” moment. (In our case, a dinner with  a LOT of red wine ending in us both sporting matching pairs of shooting glasses). Other common decisive deadlockers can also include the “I knew I had to leave that job when…” one or more commonly in my life, the “I knew I had to go on a diet when…” (Both easy ones for me: with the former, one boss said to me, not joking even a little bit, “You are not a mushroom, I will not throw shit at you.” Eh ok Miley, you can make out my p45 to Scarlett O’Hara. The latter is obviously the barometer jeans, the last chance pants that once even they dont fit, you know the game, and more sadly that sneaky morning coffee slice you eat in the car on the way back from the latte run, is alas also Gonzo.

With this house, this moment was also easy peasy. It was hands down, no contest the view. Yep from the front, this looks like, well is, a rundown boarded up cottage with odd looking even more rundown overgrown half house propped up against its side. The inside is well, as previously discussed. But the back. The back has the most unexpectedly amazing erm back: masses of space, really quiet and a genuinely cracking view right over the city.

Yes I know it’s overgrown Lucy but look at the view

South facing, on top of a hill, it’s like someone has turned down the dial on the traffic and up on the birds tweeting.  In almost total privacy, looking down to the river and across to the mountains, it is something approaching tranquil. Step through the back door and suddenly you are hovering anonymously above the city, the Liffey looks shiny not grimey, the sun always seems to be shining and you can feel the world slow down. It is just crying out for some type of decking action, cold drinks and newspaper reading/ general pottering. The inclusion of Guinnesses in our eyeline right smack across the water adds just the right amount of Ronnie Drewesque “this is my Dublin” sentiment that no doubt will ramp up significantly whenever we are a bit locked.

To Arthur

Daragh had perhaps taken things a little too far as Stoneybatter’s first Sapeur

This view and the endless possibilities this magic space offered, sealed the deal and for us,  was enough persuasion to hold hands, close our eyes and take the plunge.

Any time I feel a panic attack bubbling about what we have done, (which is admittedly a lot), I close my eyes, take myself back to that late May afternoon, feel the sun on my face and jump all over again. See that’s the scary thing with massive leaps: there is no turning back. But sure feck it. Even if we belly flop big Willy style, at the very least the view will be amazing on the way down.