Early this morning I cruised by a house we offered on almost six years ago:
Here it is with better lighting.
My wife loved the kitchen – purely the wide open space, as ours is fairly cramped (the wide open spaces being outside the house). I fell for the garage, which it was easy to picture as a workshop for my bikes. It was also as about as private as it got in that postcode at that price, with one neighbour living in what amounted to a jungle, the other with an entrance on the far side of the house, (we won't talk about the rear), and trees in front that we were surprised had held out so long against developers. As a bonus, it was just inside the catchment for our doctor's surgery, which is far preferable to the one in the nearby town.
In the debit column it was on the small side, with only one toilet (I reckon £300k should get you at least two), a shallow loft space, a big kitchen window blighted by a roof blocking what would've been a grand view of the north, and a few other niggles; but as I said, we made an offer on it. This was refused. They went down a little, we thought not enough, and it was goodbye house with kerb appeal.