Growing up in a boxy unadorned 1950s house (which did have, nonetheless, heaps of sentimental value and history, but more on that another day), I longed to live someplace old, with character, and if possible, a fireplace and window seat (see: The Velvet Room, by Zilpha Keatley Snyder.)
When I moved away, I lived in as many older places as possible, and today, as what passes for a Responsible Adult, I can see what goes along with the fine woodwork and plastering genius and long-established neighbourhoods with nice big trees:
lead paint
asbestos
no insulation, leading to
mold, mildew, high heating bills
Of course, major renovations are always possible, but having watched neighbours (and the neighbours of those neighbours) go through that, I don't think I have the necessary fortitude.
Honestly, it's enough to send me to the real estate listings any time I think about doing any actual writing. If only agents would start including 'window seat' on their spec sheets...
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