We were quite clear when we started looking for properties back in the autumn of 2015: finished places only. We weren’t in the market for anywhere ‘partially restored’, and anywhere that required ‘full restoration’ was given very short shrift. No Grand Designs for us. As the search continued into 2016, we maintained our resolve, even though we came across dozens of places with, for instance, vaulted ceilings but no stairs, or with grand fireplaces but no mains water, or with fabulous views but no windows, that all could be fantastic. But no: ‘could be’ was out. ‘Is’ was what we were after. Tempered with realism, of course. We were open to doing some decorating, some tweaking and tidying, a bit of finishing off – aka ‘putting our own stamp on things’, to coin the cliché much beloved by property programmes. And when we first viewed it in late 2016, that is the category that what has become Casa Girasole fell into.
The heavy lifting of the restoration work proper had been carried out by the vendors, leaving mainly cosmetic works still to be completed. We were in Goldilocks territory: not so much work it put us off, and not so little it offered no scope for personalisation, but just enough for Mr Blue-Shirt to flex his ‘getting his hands dirty’ muscles. We could move straight in and immediately live there comfortably, without recourse to camp stoves or strip-washes. It therefore comes as quite a surprise at the end of our first year in permanent residence just how much work we have done, either through choice or necessity. And there was – inevitably, in hindsight – a clutch of unforeseen (but ultimately probably foreseeable) necessities to see to. Replacing the boiler, for instance had not been on the list, but after a winter of taking turns to pad out to the boiler room in the dark, early morning chill to try and coax the wheezing, cantankerous beast back into life so it could breathe some warmth into the radiators and we could have a hot shower, we finally decided we needed a new one. And since the cause of death was limescale build-up, we added a water softener too. Then, of course, came the series of jobs that stemmed from this, including repairing two furred up loos and replacing a third as well as sorting out both showers.
Alongside these was the handful of jobs that were upgraded from choice to necessity. We knew we wanted to replace the windowless tongue and groove front and back doors with something that let natural daylight in. However, once it became clear just how much of our hard-won heat leaked out through the gaps round the frames, that job swiftly moved to the top of the list. It was a similar story with the patio doors whose windows were set so high that from the sofa it was impossible to see any more of the ‘to die for’ view down the valley to the sea than a small patch of sky, and maybe, on a particularly breezy day, the uppermost branches of our tallest and most unkempt olive trees. But winter soon revealed more serious shortcomings: their single-glazed windows streamed with condensation every morning, and drafts like icy knives sliced in through the gaps around the frame that were wide enough to stuff with newspaper. And several ruined batches of bread eventually convinced us to replace the burner in the overly needy oven that refused to stay alight without constant attention.
On the other hand, it is also reassuring to find how little we’ve actually had to do: how far what is already here suits our taste, and how well it all meets our needs. While the kitchen has had quite a makeover, with sink, tap and tiles renewed, handmade pan drawers, cupboard doors, shelves, a bookcase and dishwasher fitted, and pantry and cupboard built in to the under-stairs space, the rest of the rustic yet modern interior has remained largely untouched. Apart from the admittedly quite major jobs of installing the fire insert and wood burning stove, which involved smashing a dinner-plate-sized hole through the outside wall of the house and erecting a 3m tall stainless-steel chimney, it has otherwise been a matter of changing a few light fittings here, adding curtain poles there; installing new power sockets and moving some light switches. And although the outside jobs have been quite substantial – adding shutters, re-doing the render and painting the house, removing redundant fencing, installing the irrigation system and building the wood-store – they have all fallen squarely into either the ‘looks nicer’ or ‘want to’ category.
All of which goes to confirm what we knew on that first viewing: that this was The One, the house with that indefinable ‘something’ that instantly made us feel as if we had come home – much like when you meet the person who is The One: the person who makes you feel as if you’ve known them all your life. And just as with that person, if they truly are The One, then it is on the basis not of who you wish they could become, but of who they already are, and then enabling them to blossom.