Post-it notes? Check.
Black Texta pen? Check?
The Sydney street directory; copied pages of maps 257 and 251? Check.
Freshly printed copies of The Wentworth Courier and Domain East from The Sydney Morning Herald? Oooh, Check, check, check.
I'm ready. So, which life should I try on today?
If I want to be an inner city cool person, au fait with Facebook and Twitter, with a sleek city job, I'll focus on the immaculate one and two bedroom all white apartments, complete with compact kitchen, city glimpses and secure off-street parking (for my vespa and skis). They might be in Elizabeth Bay or Surry Hills, complete with cool bars and locals wearing Paul Smith by day and True Religion jeans for play.
If I want to be an upsizing banker, lawyer or doctor with a bigger-bonus-budget, I'll need a beautiful view and a quality street somewhere in Bellevue Hill or Vaucluse. I won't mind if it's got mustard wallpaper or grass green carpet from being "lovingly held by the same family since 1977", as I have good taste and an even better interior decorator.
No. Not today. Though both characters seem very nice, I'm sure, and because the reassuring heft of the magazines reveals there will be enough properties this week to satisfy all property wants and needs, today I've just gotta be me, JoJo Everett.
Working mother of one, happily married to Joshua, all tenderly and tightly ensconced in a lovely Paddington apartment, but wouldn't mind more space, a bit of a backyard and perhaps a harbour glimpse. I arrange the post its and street map, remove the lid from my black marker pen (quick sniff) and open the pages of the first magazine.
Everyone needs a hobby, right?
15 minutes later and I have my short list for tomorrow, a 9:45 am start after I drop my son Alex off to school. 10 properties, each with three bedrooms, "room for improvement" and in good Paddington streets. Years of dream property searching has made me ruthlessly efficient. Lovely house but wrong street? No. Great street but bad renovation, adding cost but no value? No thanks. Great house, great street, facing north-west? Yes please.
Choosing to be me, and looking at Paddington houses means I can comfortably do the 10 houses in the three hours I allot every week for my run through the eastern suburbs. If I choose to be a Bellevue Hill voyeur I might only make four properties, as there may be fewer properties available to view or they may be a farther jog apart. If I venture further afield to Randwick, I can see lots more homes, but have to build in the travel time, running from my Paddington/Edgecliff abode, past Centennial Park into wider, longer, more complicated street grids.
I finish off the remains of my Jones the Grocer skinny latte, snap the lid back on the texta and fold my marked map (only page 257 needed today). I'm refreshed and ready for my Thursday round of open for inspections.
Thursday afternoon: 14:00 hours.
Pay dirt.
Today I found the perfect house, for Joshua, Alex and me. It's not easy. Josh is over six feet tall, so we need high ceilings. Alex is seven and a boy. So we need: good soundproofing, tolerant (or deaf or louder) neighbours, a bit of a backyard, within 10 minutes walk of Alex's school. I need a good sized third bedroom for a home office and spare bedroom for Joshua's family infrequent visits from Melbourne. I'd prefer it if they stayed in a hotel but they just won't take the hint no matter how many brochures I leave on their bedside table for Tracey McArdle Executive Leasing.
I had dropped Alex off at his school at 9:00 a.m., had a brief chat with another mum about the rising incidence of nits in the schoolyard (thrilling stuff to mums) and hit the pavement for my first 9:30 a.m. open, an easy 15 minute jog away, on the other side of Oxford Street. Alas, it was a fizzer. A badly done 1997 renovation, executed (by the look of it) by the same guy who did the Playboy mansion. Tangerine marble bathrooms with gold plated taps. A mirrored bar in the living room. Hmm. I don't think so. Homes two to seven were, alas, not to my taste either.
But at 11:30 I saw house number eight. It was lovely.
It was at 32 Norfolk Street Paddington, and it had "JoJo's new house" practically written on the doormat. Three big bedrooms, ours with aircon., a courtyard for me to work from and for us to host dinner parties in, neat as a new pin in my favourite colour scheme – black and white; and in a cul-de-sac for Alex to ride his scooter in. P.E.R.F.E.C.T.
Here's a link to have a squiz:
The lovely agents Gary Sands and Jane Schumann from Di Jones, who I know quite well (some agents get to see me almost every week, not including holidays) let me linger longer than needed and after the inspection had officially ended. Sigh. It's perfect. Except I haven't spoken to Joshua about moving. Yet. Or selling our unit. Yet. Still, this week's open for inspection dreaming has fitted me like a warm leather glove. Yumm.
Next week: I think I'll act out my inner lady who lunches and have a stroll through lovely Woollahra....
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