“Darl, I can’t find it anywhere.”
“Where did you last see it?”
“If I knew that I’d get it.”
Cheryl and I had been preparing our house for sale for months. After living there for 38 years, we were quite surprised at the items, particularly documents, that we’d collected or filed away during that time.
We hired two storage units, the larger one for sell or give-away items, the smaller one for keeping what we intended to take to our newly purchased apartment. However, by the time we moved, we would hire four storage units, and need three six-metre skips for rubbish and unwanted furniture.
Photos were taken and displayed in the local newspaper. Open for inspection times were set. Our house was for sale!
After a few weeks we had a reasonable offer, and decided to accept it. The potential buyers asked to see the Certificate of Title to the house. I got out the box of documents that we’d put under the stairs. No Title! A huge search commenced.
Our solicitor told us that the sale could not proceed without it. I called the Titles Office and was informed that they no longer held hard-copies. Originals were sent to solicitors who were advised to pass them to the house owners. To get a new Title, we’d have to apply, and pay a substantial amount.
We had documentation from the solicitors in Greensborough who had handled the sale. They were very helpful and searched their archives. One of the partners had moved to Geelong to start his own business. He would most likely have the original Title.
We eventually contacted the Secretary of the Geelong company. She told us that it had been sent to us ten years ago.
Cheryl was insistent:
“It must be in one of the boxes in a storage unit.”
“We’ll have to go through all the boxes. It has to be in one of them. If we can’t find it, we’ll have to order a new one, which will delay the sale, possibly making the potential buyer change her mind.”
A weekend was spent at the storage facility, going through each box with a fine-tooth comb. No Title.
We had kept only basic items in the house, and had placed a phone charger in my bedside table drawer. On retrieving it, I felt a piece of paper at the bottom of the drawer, obviously missed during the clean-out. It was a letter from the Geelong Solicitor from 10 years ago, detailing the return of the Title to us. A second sheet of paper was … the Certificate of Title!
Cheryl was downstairs in the rumpus room having yet another search through the box of documents.
I stood at the top of the stairs, and called out.
“Darl, guess what I found.”
Cheryl appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“The Title! I’ve been sleeping with it near my head for God knows how long.”
She ran up the stairs and looked at the Title.
“You bloody idiot” were the only words she could manage before bursting into laughter.