We had an appointment with the solicitor today. We needed “true and accurate” copies of our passports and a bill to prove our identity. A necessary nuisance: we don’t want just anybody being able to remortgage our (my!) home. We also thought to get him to witness the transfer deed itself.

The door to the establishment is on a buzzer, so we buzzed, waited, and were let up, then asked to wait outside the solicitor’s office until he was ready.

There was a raucous coming from the office.

Whoever was in there was throwing the most disgusting abuse at the solicitor. Calling him a dirty Jew. The solicitor very calmly replied that he was Greek. I thought he could be a chocolate sausage – his ethnicity is irrelevant: such abuse cannot be tolerated. The solicitor was very calm, and his daughter, who also works as his assistant, came to try to defuse the situation.

I put my things in my bag and wondered what to do. To intervene would probably make things worse. Should I call the police? Could that make things worse? Would they even get here before things got really messy?

Suddenly, the abusive chap came out of the office – still hurling abuse – and was gradually manoeuvred out of the building.

I said to the solicitor “do you need a break for a cup of tea or something?”

“No,” he replied, “this kind of thing happens – especially when the front door isn’t on the latch and people wander in drunk or on drugs.”

I asked whether the police should have been called.

“There’s no point,” he replied, “they’d take so long to get here that it would either be over or it would have got much worse before they arrived.” That’s fairly damning of the boys in blue – but unfortunately accurate.

We then went to business. He read the email from the conveyors and requested the documents. Wed taken a lot of everything to make sure that we had at least something correct.

He stamped, notorized, and signed the copies.

Then we asked if he’d mind witnessing the transfer deeds. Again he read the documentation very carefully (which is why he does that job and not me), and then we signed.

I am not sure whether my husband knows, but that is the powerful piece of documentation that will ultimately transfer the house into my sole name.

During this time, the husband was very anxious. He literally vibrates with it. My anxiety plays out in different ways (see migraines!)

Later, when we were at home, I started collating the documents and realised that hubby has to sign one on his own in the presence of a solicitor. DOH! We missed one!

I need to print off a humongous document and sign it.

Then I can pop the whole lot in an envelope and… well, it’s not too late for either of us to change our minds until the Completion Date. We don’t know what that is yet.

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The stress of this – the buyout, the trouble in my marriage – is really taking its toll on me. Migraines most days (new medication starting today), my sleep is greatly disturbed, and I am waking up with damp sheets.

I’m trying to hold down a job and hoping nobody notices.

All the while, still trying to be gentle with my husband and his feelings.

It’s exhausting.