Prologue

How Hard Can it Be?

“Can I help you with something?”

I turn to face the store clerk. They look assured and knowledgeable, and I know they can see right through me. This is no Bunnings, This is a real tool shop, where the real trades and real craftsmen go. I am wearing the Blundstones Boots that I imposturously wear to the office, scuffed in the pubs of Fitzroy. My new Swandri work shirt is extremely and uncharacteristically clean; oh god I probably left the tags on.

Yes – actually do you have any advice for fixing houses? Specifically roofing, both cladding and structural, guttering, wood framing, rot and termite damage, plastering, floor boards, sub structure joists, and stumping foundations? Or perhaps you know more about electrical systems, hot water systems, possum control, landscaping, gardening, and a number of other skills that I will undoubtedly require, but am not aware of, nor have those issues exposed themselves…I think to myself. 

“No, I am all over it, thank you though, just looking today”.

I scurry away back to the car, red faced, sweating, and with a deep need to hyperventilate into a paper bag. I will never go back to that store for as long as I live; I have been exposed. 

It is clear that we are both completely out of our depth. I moreso, because throughout making the decision to buy this old, abandoned, decrepit house, I made constant assurances that what I didn’t know, I could learn quickly. How hard can it be will be my epitaph, or let’s look on youtube.

But there is time and space yet to discuss our innumerable future failings. This story really begins back in the 1850’s, when some prospective gold miners, thirsty for both riches and ale, birthed the creation of the Maldon Brewery. 

The first recording of a brewery at the foot of Mt Tarrengower dates to at least prior to Howitt’s Land, Labour, and Gold; or, Two years in Victoria, published in 1854. The first brewer was a Mr Thomas Laski, of London. Howitt describes his meeting Laski at the site, stating that he “has established a brewery there, and is supplying almost the whole of the Tarrengower diggings with a wholesome beer, instead of deleterious grog. We were surprised to learn that by the singular regulations of this most singular government, he is not allowed to use malt for his beer, as if a fermented liquor from malt was more injurious than from sugar.”

Several sources acknowledge the existence of the brewery over the proceeding decade, but it is the one established by Charles Bryant that attracts the most attention. I will save the story of Charles Bryant for a later chapter, for I would only make a number of fact checkable errors.

Fast forward 125 years, and two fools stumble upon the property while looking for their first house purchase.

We came to see the house twice. The first time was in the dark, in the middle of winter, with an impatient agent, and few working lights. We were not impressed, and while not entirely dismissive, we continued to look. But while the house did not impress, the beautiful town of Maldon did. Old and beautiful in both construction and nature, Maldon was perfect. It was 30 minutes to Bendigo, 15 to Castlemaine and a train to Melbourne, and had just enough gentrification that we could get a glass of wine on the high street (but not after 8), and multiple venues for high tea). After looking at what else we could get in our budget, we decided to give the old brewery another look, but this time, in the day light.

It was this visit that the true potential of this house revealed itself. The gardens looked amazing in the late winter sun, and the house somehow looked less intimidating in the daylight. Everything that terrified us on the first visit, suddenly seemed possible. Sure, there’s a few unintended sloped surfaces, exposed wires, and a rotted wall, but how hard can it be.

We decided to seek out some sage advice. When undertaking a mammoth task like this, it is important to know who you can and should listen to. Everyone has advice for you, but have you seen them put together some Ikea furniture?

We needed someone with the right attitude and technical knowledge.

On our way back from Castlemaine, bumping along the Calder Highway in the 1998 Jackaroo, we spoke to my godmother, an architect builder who has worked extensively on heritage housing. She said we were the type of people with the attitude to take on a project like this. We probably didn’t have the same budget as most of her clients, but after our phone call with Ariane, we were all in. As she put it, its just time and money. Got plenty of the former, and willing to wait long enough till we have the latter.

We have lived in a number of alternative housing situations. I lived in a tractor shed for months when I worked at a winery, Issy lived in a Caravan for 6 months. Our house in Melbourne has gaping holes, an downhill corridor, and an illegal bathroom extension. We have also spent months in a tent with our entire lives attached to our bikes. While we might be taking on a project that is far beyond our capabilities, I am extremely confident that the state of the house will not exceed our abilities to endure sub par comfort.

After talking ourselves into it, so started the first of many indeterminable hurdles that would finally lead to our acquisition. The offer. We went in insulting low, thinking that maybe, just maybe, a mortgagee enforced sale that has had no offers in months may just take the first one on the table. This is sitting in some bloke’s inbox at work. Part of me expected, and hoped, that we would hear back in 15 minutes with an emphatic yes.

10 days pass. I make Issy chase it up because I am pathetic. A 100% real competing offer was suddenly in, although the agent ‘knew nothing about it’ and it was coming directly from the vendor.

I would love to say we held our nerve and waited for the vendor to cave, and concede that there was no other offer. Alas no, we were absolutely done by what I presume is covered in day one of five of whatever course you have to complete to become a real estate agent. We got involved in a bidding war with a figment of someone’s imagination.

Eventually, someone took pity on us and our absolute final final but seriously this is it this time final offer was accepted. The entire property, with all its issues, would finally be ours, or so we thought.

The bank were not impressed by the state of the property. They said it required immediate rectification works and wanted to know how much they cost, and whether we could afford it. They gave a list of 6 things. Now, some of them, such as restumping is fair enough. The rest included reattaching a small panel back on the bath and putting an oven in. I stopped counting the issues with the house a long time ago, but the number was certainly higher than 6.

We got the quote, and were pleasantly surprised. On the phone to our absolute legend of a builder, she asked us what type of quote we are after. A real one, a get out of the contract one, or a you want it one. I settled on a realistic one, letting fate decide, but make sure to spare every cent when it came to fixings. When refitting the cottage bathroom, we want the landlord special.

I am sure the amount will end up being significantly more. Every time we have opened something, several issues spawn like some sort of home improvement Hydra. Cut one head off, and several new ones grow. This could actually be a very cheap project, if we just don’t open any doors, avoid certain areas of flooring, and don’t expect any level of comfort, warmth, or dryness.

But the quote came in, and it was pretty reasonable. It was less than the amount we thought we would spend, but over a number of years. The Bank finally relented and granted us finance. The house was finally ours. Or so we thought.

Settlement was in mid September. I had my finger on send for an email in my drafts, ready to drop our Melbourne Rental. I had the car packed with the vacuum, various chemicals, and gloves I had purchased for the occasion. The day before, we get an email. One of the two caveators that the agent has ‘no information’ on, had objected to the sale.

For the blissfully unaware, let me explain what a caveat is.

If you believe you have an interest in a particular piece of land, but you are not on the title, you can lodge a caveat. Rather, you can get a lawyer to lodge a caveat for you. They (the Lawyer) must have a reasonable belief in the substance of your caveat to lodge it on your behalf. It prevents the title from moving to another party, until you withdraw it or a court orders its removal. Beware of the latter, as you can be liable for not only the legal costs of your and the other party’s dispute, but any amount that any party has incurred as a result of the caveat.

I am in two minds whether to explain what the caveat was purportedly for. If you know me, then you probably already know. I think for now, I will refrain from publishing what happened. Perhaps in the future. We are not sure what the truth is, but if their version is it, then it is a very sad and tragic story.

Ultimately, the caveat was not withdrawn by consent and had to be removed by the court, a mere 3 days before the final settlement date in early December. Any later, and we would have been able to end the contract, which we were planning to do and making a subsequent, insulting low offer. Alas, that pleasure was denied.

Settlement goes through with 30 minutes to spare, closing the first, emotionally tumultuous chapter of this ridiculous property. I collected the keys (the few that still existed), and headed out to the property for the first time, with champagne in the eski, and an engagement ring in my pocket.