The chap is a military man if I remember, and he's quite hopeful that they can nail it down before he goes off on a mission and leaves his wife on her own for a further six months, while the wife seems determined to not be happy with any of the houses. No? I need to be more specific.
They have got the wife's mother involved, in what sort of seems like revenge on the husband for leaving her on her own too much. The mum will be living with them in her own building or annexe or compound and she's retired but very very active, and wants to find a home where she has access to a local choir, theatre, opera, rowing club, kickboxing gym, rockclimbing centre - I don't know, lots of organised social and cultural stuff that you don't normally associate with living in the country. She's also got a massive budget for her bit of the house, many and various very high standards and won't settle for anything marginal. It's proving to be a challenge to meet the needs of both the wife and the mum in anything like a reasonable timeframe.
For me, the highlight of the show is when they arrive at yet another attractive, double-fronted country property and the bloke, quietly desperate to acquire a house that meets these disparate needs, points out that this one, even at this early kerbside stage, is looking hopeful. He helpfully gestures up the walk. "Door in the middle, love."
Sometimes the lovely man and I seek something unlikely, something which may not even exist, and even beginning the search we feel less than optimistic about finding it. And some time later, there we both are, walking down a quiet street or reading the paper or filling the car with petrol and something promising appears. And whichever of us spots it first turns to the other and says, "Door in the middle, love."