For the past couple of months, I’ve been grappling with one of the biggest upheavals in my long life: moving into my own home after more than 14 years out of the property market in the wake of a protracted divorce. 

Compared with the house I owned with my ex-wife, the new abode is a dramatic example of ‘downsizing’ in later life – something us oldies (over 60s) are being encouraged to do by a mix of policy geeks and politicians, to help free up a frozen housing market for those younger than ourselves. I’m happy to do my bit.

Hopefully, the 14-year jump from being joint owner of a four-bedroom town house in Hertfordshire to sole buyer of a tiny but rather cute two-bedroom, late Georgian mid-terrace home in Wokingham, Berkshire, will be ultimately rewarding – both personally and financially.

It’s a place I can truly call my own and, in time, stamp my mark on every inch – from the art I hang on the walls through to the array of bedding plants that will adorn the narrow but longish garden and, hopefully, draw approving nods from my very friendly neighbours.

But the moving and downsizing haven’t been without their trials and tribulations. Far from it. I now understand why downsizing in particular is not for everyone in later life, although it can help boost your finances. It’s an option you shouldn’t rule out.

Finding a place

Moving home is always stressful, yet like most things in life it gets more difficult as you age, and pension decumulation – rather than accumulation – becomes the order of the day. In a nutshell, that’s me.

Finding a suitable property for your particular personal needs in later life is trickier than when you were a spring chicken and stairs were not a problem. For many, health issues have to be factored into the equation.

Most stay put for all kinds of reasons, from the dread of moving out of a home they have lived in for most of their adult life to the sheer cost of moving. But some bite the bullet and relocate, with many also downsizing.

A slice of movers opt for a home in a block of flats designed specifically for the over 60s. The likes of Churchill, McCarthy & Stone and Pegasus Homes specialise in this area.

I have friends and friends of friends who are as happy as Larry living in these bespoke retirement properties. They enjoy the camaraderie and the fact there is often an employee on site to help with any problems and look out for them.

Yet, service charges can be steep, and properties are often difficult to sell on. Retirement flat costs are an issue we highlighted earlier this month.

Such a purchase was never on my radar. I’m too much of a free spirit and young at heart.

For seniors who love their independence, moving from a big home into a bungalow can prove a shrewd step, although these properties are rare as hen’s teeth in many locations – and over-priced (scarce supply, excess demand).

Mind you, the Isle of Wight seems to have a glut of them judging by the number I saw on a recent adult-only Warner Hotels holiday to the island. And no, I don’t mean that kind of adult-only holiday with pampas grass in abundance.

A bungalow was not an option for me in Wokingham, where I moved to in 2020 to live closer to partner Leonie, going on to enjoy tenancies in two flats while my divorce went on… and on.

Why? Simple, price. Wokingham is an expensive place to buy a home, and bungalows are out of my price range.

My house buying budget was strictly governed by the pool of cash accumulated from various sources: a share of the eventual sale proceeds of the family home in 2024, a bit of inherited cash from my mother (Helen of Troy) who died in early 2024, and a sliver of tax-free cash from a pension fund diminished by the terms of a divorce settlement.

I wasn’t interested in a supporting mortgage to buy a big show off property. Debt is a no go at my time of life.

I was also conscious of not tying up all my cash in bricks and mortar. Although I’m still working, I want a pool of savings – ideally, tax-friendly cash Isa savings – to give me a degree of security, in case either work comes to a sudden end (it does to us all at some stage) or an unexpected financial emergency rears its head.

I also want to travel while my health is good – a passion shared by Leonie, who also downsized four years ago, specifically to free up capital for this purpose.

Leonie, two years my senior, has worked out that the capital she released downsizing from a two-bedroom Victorian house in Wokingham to a one-bedroom flat 800 yards down the road will fund her travels for the next 15 years.

She’s already arranged a forthcoming weekend break to Chester, a two-week soiree to Canada and Alaska, and a few days in Madrid seeing her son Stuart and his girlfriend Laura.

Location, location

Choice of a new home in later life can also be restricted by ties to family (grandparenting duties, for example), a need to stay close to an ever-decreasing pool of dear friends, and travel considerations.

I am sure my relationship with Leonie would have been tested to the limit if I had chosen a property on the south coast (in Brighton or Hove, East Sussex, or Worthing in West Sussex) in preference to staying in Wokingham.

I was sorely tempted by these locations, primarily because I love the sea. Worthing, in particular, appealed because you get more bang for your buck from the property market there.

According to property website Rightmove, the average price for a house in Worthing is just short of £383,000. In Wokingham, the equivalent price is approaching £548,000.

We toyed with us toing and froing between Worthing and Wokingham. But it wouldn’t have worked, as Leonie has family commitments in Bracknell, which is just a stone’s throw from Wokingham.

So, after much chin scratching, I chose Wokingham over my desire for a home within touching distance of the English Channel – and becoming a near neighbour of Angela Rayner!

So, what I have bought?

Local decorator Nigel describes my home as ‘quirky’, but I love it. As I’ve already said, it’s got two bedrooms with a downstairs extension that houses a kitchen awash with skylights. At night I can watch the sun set while doing the washing up. Glorious, although it doesn’t beat a Brighton sunset.

I imagine the house will be my last one (I joke to friends that it will be where I am carried out of in a box).

I call it my 'hobbit' home in light of the low ceilings. So low that Tim, husband of my partner’s best friend, was literally bent double when he came armed with a bottle of expensive white wine to have a nose around. 

He’s ex-Army, built like the tank he used to drive, and not far short of 6ft 6ins. I don’t think Tim’s ricked neck will permit him a second visit.

Some people of a similar age to me would be put off by the fact that the stairs are as steep as a Lakeland fell. 

They're tricky to get down at any time, but particularly in the middle of the night when your brain is not functioning 100 per cent – or is slightly addled by the second 175ml glass of wine you ordered earlier that night at Côte Brasserie.

The stairs hazard is compounded by the fact that the house’s one and only toilet is located downstairs. So far, I haven’t put a foot wrong when heading for my regular 3am pee (prostate issues). But handyman Martin, a jack of all trades, has installed a nylon stair rail just in case I slip and need to grab on to it for dear life.

Who cares if I am the new Bilbo Baggins of Wokingham? My hobbit home will do for me, especially given it’s close to the railway station which means good transport links to London when a bit of culture – a good art exhibition or a bit of live music – is required. For the moment, I’ve eschewed the idea of having a car, primarily because both parking and parking attendants are a nightmare.

Downsizing

Although downsizing is a great way to release tax-free cash in later life – better value than taking out an equity release plan on an existing home – it’s not without its drawbacks.

It ratchets up the home moving stress a notch or six, as a lifetime of possessions (clutter in my case) need to be pruned before you move.

And of course, there are stamp duty charges, surveyor’s and solicitor’s bills to be paid, as well as removal costs.

My ancillary costs came in at £15,000, probably on the low side given the modest price of my new home (way below an average Wokingham price of £548,000). And since moving in, I’ve spent £5,000 on decorators, carpet fitters, and everything from new bedding, outside and inside lights through to a stair rail. A new roof will also be needed before the year is out.

A big hit on my pocket, so I understand why many elderly people stay put in large homes rather than move to something more manageable.

Some say they would only downsize if they were incentivised to do so. For example, by being eligible for lower stamp duty rates – a fair reward, they argue, for playing their part in freeing up the housing market.

My mind is split on this. From a society point of view, encouraging elderly owners of large homes to downsize makes some sense. 

Yet it’s not as if most downsizers don’t already do well financially from the current system with the opportunity to release vast amounts of equity – all tax-free – as a result of the long-term growth in house prices (on average 70 per cent plus over the past 20 years).

On the decluttering front, I did chuck a lot of stuff away – clothes, pictures, old pots and pans – before moving into my new home at the end of April. 

Yet it just isn’t big enough to accommodate a lifetime’s worth of books and football memorabilia. 

The result is that I still rent a unit to house many of these possessions which have been in storage since 2012. It really is time to let them go.

And then there is the stress of the move itself – in my case, only finding out on removal day that a beautiful eye-catching arched cabinet I bought when I separated from my wife was too big for my home, despite measuring it beforehand to see if it was not too tall for the lounge.

I had no choice but to give it away to one of the removal men. Understandably, he was delighted. Christmas had come early.

Post-move

Since moving in, the stress has not dissipated. On occasion, all I have wanted to do is curl up in a ball and cry as a stream of tradespeople have let me down, or I haven’t managed to get my television or phone to work.

Finding a carpenter in Wokingham reminds me a little of the fruitless search for Lord Lucan. I track them down and then they disappear off the face of the earth, never to be heard from again.

One did come and measure up to install some bespoke bookshelves in my second bedroom (my office) and replace broken skirting boards in the lounge, but that was it. 

Despite also offering him first dibs at replacing the roof – he’s a roofer by trade – radio silence ensued.

I’ve also screamed when discovering niggly little faults with the house that the surveyor’s report understandably didn’t highlight, or my visits to the property prior to purchase didn’t detect. 

For instance, floorboards that go creak in the night (scary) and a garden that has more ‘potholes’ than your typical Berkshire A-road.

How I haven’t broken my ankle falling down one of these craters is a minor miracle although I’ve now filled in most of the holes - created, I believe, by the previous owner’s ‘dig for England’ cocker spaniel.

As for the rubble at the back of the garden beyond the shed (which I paid extra for), it’s yielding a mish mash of artifacts. 

To date, buried deep beneath the mass of broken concrete and bricks, I’ve discovered a burnt-out dustbin, a twelve-inch kitchen knife, a 100-foot hose and an array of plastic plant pots. My idea of landscaping it all and turning it into a rockery awash with alpine flowers will take a while to fulfil.

Oh, and there’s a family of rats living between my house and my neighbour’s.

Choose your ‘last’ home with great care.