If you've lost interest in my house-buying saga (and I don't blame you if you have), there's no need to read on.

For the remaining six readers, perhaps you'd like to know that we're now at the "survey stage".

We're getting surveys carried out on the property we've offered to buy, while our buyers are getting our home checked out.

This is the worrying bit.

This is when you hear that your current home is doomed, with a rampant form of dry rot and is about to subside into a sewer. This is when you discover your bricks and mortar are worth less than a builder's hod. This is when your buyers pull out, nay flee, in terror.

Waiting for the surveyor's report seems much like the anxiety following medical tests. Is it serious? Is it curable? Should we get a second opinion? Should we call the priest?

I don't know if tidiness is one of the categories of the survey but I hope the surveyor looking at our property will be impressed with the way my husband has sorted out the junk in our attic - and won't notice the big patch of black mould on the chimney breast.

I could turn the mould into a "feature", I suppose. Perhaps incorporate it in a hand-painted mural or a pretend it's a relief map of a remote part of Scotland.

Our other nail-biting concern is trying to work out just how much money we'll have left over after putting down a sizeable deposit and paying for all the moving expenses.

I've tried showing sums to my husband but every time I mention "equity" he asks me what the actors' union has to do with us buying a house.

Nevertheless, we've drawn up a shopping list of items for our new home. These include essentials such as a piano, a new computer and a wrought-iron bed, while less important items, such as curtains and carpets, will have to wait.

Actually, I find it quite hard to remember what our new home is like inside. I do recall it has some horrible sliding patio doors that immediately went on my "must go" list.

What will probably happen is that within three weeks of living there, I won't even notice them. On the other hand, I might start to think they're charming and try to turn them into a "feature" by creating fancy drapes around them (oh, stop me).

I'm not so sure about the kitsch kitchen. When was it fashionable to match mock Tudor beams with Seventies-style units in an Edwardian house?

Again, a new kitchen was on the priority list but now that we've budgeted for the other essentials, that may have to wait until we can remortgage the property in ten years' time.

Or we could hang on until just before we want to sell. It would definitely be a priority then. I'd be far too embarrassed to let people think we'd lived with something so offensive.

Then again, mock Tudor circa 1975 might come back into fashion. It could turn out to be our new home's best feature.

That's enough about house-buying for now. Next week I shall return to deriding my husband and denigrating my friends.