Madison blogs - Hunting for houses

So yesterday I bought a house. Well by house I mean a studio apartment. I have the contract and a 30-year loan to prove it. It may only be small but it is 33 square metres of wood and bricks I can call my own.

My climb onto the property ladder has been oh so momentous. It all started around two months again when the idea of buying a house evolved into a Saturday morning itinerary that saw myself accompanied by my boyfriend and my parents trawl across Sydney looking at open houses. In this hunt we saw the good, the bad and the downright ugly. We sussed out areas I’d like and thought about things like distance to transport and noise pollution. You could tell when Dad liked a place; he’d flash out his business card and chum up to the real estate agent. And when it was bad, Mum would say politely as we left: “I hope you get a sale today.”

But it was one place that stole the hearts of our search party. From the day we walked in we were smitten. (I think Dad might have even given the real estate two business cards.) In all of our heads furniture was picked and the studio-warming party was planned (full capacity would be around five people so I’d have to either lose some friends or find some very skinny ones.) So the following Monday I made an offer. It soon became a whirlwind of forms, phone calls with Dad, the bank, the lawyers and the real estate. Then there was a lot of waiting and speculating – will that family with the extremely short husband outbid me? They wouldn’t love the place like I would and therefore don’t deserve it as much as I did.

To calm my nerves and give my nails a break from being chewed, I spoke to a friend in real estate who told me not to get emotional. How could I not get emotional when I’d already planned my decor? He said to choose a price I was prepared to walk away from and stick with that. In order to win I had to play hard ball.

The relationship with the real estate agent was hard to decode. I felt like I was dating again. I was constantly waiting for word from him but was told by friends: “Don’t call him first, you’ll look too keen.” And then when he messaged me I knew I definitely didn’t put an x at the end but do you finish with “from Eliza” or simply “Eliza” with a full stop. It was all so complicated.

After four weeks of back and forth the offer was accepted. I screamed when the real estate told me. I, then, called Dad who’s only remark was “shit.”

So off to the lawyers the contract went. Once again I waited until I could sign and exchange. During this time I received a message from a friend I hadn’t spoken to in ages, she wrote saying how funny it was that her brother had checked out my place and it was his favourite on his shortlist. He was going back tomorrow to inspect it with the intent of perhaps making an offer. Until contracts are exchanged it seems property is fair game. I needed to sign this piece of paper ASAP. Next thing I knew I was running down Elizabeth St, deposit in hand, to my lawyer.

After all the stress it’s exchanged and I settle in 42 days.

Now I’m in search of multipurpose furniture. A bed that flips out of the wall, a hideaway table that seconds as an ironing board and a coffee table with secret storage compartments - all in the name of creating a spacious, open plan living area. By the time I’m finished with it, the place will be cooler than any transformer. But it’ll be my transformer.

Eliza Cracknell is madison's senior sub-editor