My fifth own home

My fifth own home was really my own. I bought it. At the time I had little savings, but a great career in front of me and a good relationship with the bank. In my job I was responsible for the bank contacts.

So I called my Mum to ask if my parents could help. My Mum was a wise woman, but the breadwinner in the family was my Dad. At this point in time I had quite an infected relationship with him. However, my Mum told me that if I wanted help, I had to talk to my Dad. Ouch.

But I swallowed my pride and called him, and presented him with this opportunity of investing in an apartment, and that I would pay him back with interest. I got the money, which was about 25% of the price. The rest the bank generously provided. Well, generously and generously, on part of the loan I had to pay an interest rate of a whopping 16%. Thanks R for the advice, I have never forgotten!

The apartment was great though. Small with just a tiny hall, a bathroom you had to back into and walk out from, a long but narrow kitchen and a living room where I slept. I did however have a walk-in-closet!

I was on the top floor of a 5 floor building. No lift, no balcony, but a garden I shared with 25 neighbours, and with a washing room in the cellar.

It was a lot of fun in that building, and loadsa parties in the garden in the summer. I ended up being a member of the board, and we renovated all the pipes in the building. Because we did, people didn't have access to showers and toilets for weeks, so we invested in a sauna, two showers and two toilets in the basement, which I think to the day they still appreciate.

I wonder who lives there today, and if they still have the cupboard fronts I had painted into a light purple(!), the floor in the kitchen and how I designed the tiny bathroom at the pipe change.