The Mountain Treehouse

Finding a new rental home can sometimes be an entertaining experience. I always look for something that is something a little different to the usual brick and tile. Today's inspection of the "Cornubia Treehouse" was.....umm....interesting.

To start off, my muffler pretty much fell off three quarters of the way there and my car had lost it's grunt . I get there and the house is at the top of a bloody "MOUNTAIN" in a gated community. Who knew there was a "mountain" in Cornubia?

1. Without a remote or key to get through the gate, I couldn't drive up there.

2. If I could, my poor car wouldn't have made it up there without burning out the engine.

As I walk up the path, I notice all the letterboxes at the bottom like a block of units would have, so collecting mail would involve a mule, a Sherpa and a packed lunch! I get a third of the way up and my legs are burning and I'm out of breath. I get half way up and shock horror! I have an Asthma attack for the first time in 25 - 30 years. My legs have turned to jelly and I seriously doubt I can take another step, let alone make it to the top. At this stage, I notice EVERYONE has a 4WD in their driveway. I consider going back down, but found it easier to stay upright leaning forward and continuing up instead of fighting a losing fight with gravity, plunging face first into the bitumen and grinding my face to a pulp as I slid back down to the bottom.

I make it to the top, barely breathing, not able to feel my legs and pains in the chest that made me think I may have been having a heart attack. I collapse in a heap in the long grass of a vacant block while pondering my next move. Dial an ambulance, or crawl to my feet and discover the treetop oasis of my dreams. I decide I had come this far and I thought I had recovered my breath enough to squeeze out a "Hi" at the agent if confronted at the front door and not sound like a dying walrus with a collapsed lung. One problem - my legs no longer had the strength to stand me up from this position. What to do? I spy a telegraph pole 10 meters away. If I can crawl over there, I can use it as a support to help me get up. I start crawling. An old man with a fluffy mop of white cotton wool like hair stands at the end of his driveway with his mouth agape. I make eye contact. He scurries over to the neighbours house and disappears. I finally get up, and look around. Where is number 10? In fact, where is the agent and the "Home Open" signs? I spot number 9 and a long path heading down beside it heading deeper into the trees. This must be it! I shuffle on down the "driveway" looking like an extra in The Walking Dead and finally come to a gate that is slightly ajar. Just behind it, there it is - looking like a cabin in the woods, open door beckoning. I see a woman walk past the doorway - the agent, perhaps and venture inside.

First thing I notice is that the house is much smaller than the photos. This place is no bigger than the house I am already in. The bedrooms, in fact were smaller than I have. This is how they managed to squeeze a 4th bedroom and ensuite in. The kitchen is boxed in by weird 3/4 height walls. That wasn't in the photos. There is a woman wondering around. She asks if I am the agent. Nope, sorry. Where could the agent be? I wander out onto the smallish back deck and survey the back yard - no fences - I look out a 45 degree drop-off and some random neighbours back door in the valley below. Although Harvey (dog) and Maddy (cat) would probably like the convenience of running door to door looking like waifs begging for food, nope this isn't the house for me.

As I head out the front gate, Cotton Wool man has gathered a couple of the neighbours and has the Agent in tow gesturing and pointing at me. I give them a quick nod of acknowledgement and attempt to look confident and uninterested in their gathering while trying to stay upright on the hike back down.

No more fantasy houses for me. The next brick and tile I see in a suitable location is getting an application.