Pack your bags kids, we’re moving east
Auctions are bloody scary. How some money-hungry TV production company has turned them into a weekly hit reality show is beyond me. The desperation, the anxiety, the suspense, the highs and lows and the sweaty pits. Yeah, I forgot to pack my roll-on.
A few months back the missus and I decided we wanted to set up shop in Tauranga, her hometown. We’ve been renting in Auckland for the past 10 years – great place, lots to do, and lots of people with lots of squashed up houses.
Yes, Tauranga is becoming squishy too, but it has a touch more breathing room and you get only 200 people showing up to an open home instead of 2000.
Our checklist is the same as any other family. We don’t ask for too much: a bath, garage, enough grass for the kids and the kick-in-the-guts fourth bedroom. Because I work from home that room is for my office and it’s a deal-breaker. Who knew three gib walls could add on an extra $100k!?
We started our stereotypical Trade Me home hunt with watchlist saving, map Googling and suburb stalking. After the typical umming and ahhing we settled on the perfect house.
‘‘Sale by auction.’’ Damn it! Just tell us the price, would ya!
Next was the open home, an odd gathering of seriously silent people umming and ahhing with their eyes and gesturing to their partner about things like, ‘‘Wow, look at the windows’’ without actually saying ‘‘wow, look at the windows’’.
The bluffs had already begun in this poker game. A few nods, raised eyebrows and a handshake with the real estate agent and your open home is done. Next up is the auction and you hope like hell you have the royal flush.
As I write this it is Wednesday morning. I’m in the car as the wife drives. We are dragging the kids down over the Bombays, up and over the Kaimais and coasting into Tauranga. We’re about to lose our house auction virginity.
Like a teenage boy studying naughty magazines, I have done thorough research. We’ve had the property valued by a fancy valuer. Building reports are done and ‘How to
win an auction’ has been investigated through my good friend, Google search.
Google tells me to sit at the back, know my limit, wait until the bidding slows down to small increments – then pounce. Hold my nerve, as others bid small towards the end, come in strong – outdo their $1000 bid with a confident $5000. Act like you’re a rich-as fulla.
Basically be a boss. Keep the foot on the throat. This is no reality show. It’s do or die (die as in back to Trade Me trawling – which is really like a slow death anyway).
So with those tips under my belt – wish us luck – we’re possibly about to become real grownup adults like in the movies. I’m a tad scared, excited and really wish I had packed my roll-on. Writing this while en route to the auction really isn’t helping the nerves, or the pits...
G’Day, me again. It’s 3pm and we’re driving back home. Kids are all asleep in the back of the car, the auction is over and… sadly… WE HAVE A MORTGAGE! Whoop whoop!
For once the Google guy really worked (unlike that time I thought a rash on my belly was a rare flesh eating disease). Eleven people were bidding. We played it cool. We pretended to be confident. My pits lied.
I let others fight it out and, lucky for us, the bids hadn’t hit our maximum. Right at the end I sprung into life and started bidding stronger than everyone else, and faster. It was an out of body experience. I was like Gordon Ramsay mixed with Sir Tim Shadbolt. Loud, slightly scary but still lovable.
Lo and behold – going, going, gone! We own a house! What a strange feeling. Elation, still a bit of ‘‘shit what next’’ mixed in with a cheesy five-yearold kid with an icecream smile that I just can’t get rid of.
We tried to get the kids to be as excited as we both were, but explaining the difference between our rental and a new home that is now ‘‘ours’’ is confusing for kids.
‘‘So we can draw on the walls now?’’ No, not quite.
Something I have dreamed about doing since becoming a dad has come true. Having that security, being able to settle and grow our roots into this new slice of paradise is a personal milestone and I couldn’t be happier. A dream come true. A bloody expensive dream.
So, if you’re on the property hunt, trust Google and remember to pack roll-on.