journal of a writing man

Friday February 29, 2008

To Bridgwater, taking in our id documents to the agents for ‘anti money laundering’ purposes.  We picked up a draft copy of the house particulars for approval, and I was a little bristled to discover that we have in addition to provide documents to prove that the house is freehold before they can take it to market.

This perishin’ country is getting to be identification and document crazy.  I discovered to my alarm in the supermarket t’other day that they are no longer allowed to sell aspirin tablets to anyone under the age of eighteen.  I have distinct memories of being sent, as a tot, to the local chemist to get my mother a pack of aspirin once a month or so.

It’s easy to determine the justification for such stupidity but that doesn’t make it any the less stupid.

So, anyway.  Bridgwater.  Lunch time.  Starving poet surrounded by smells of stuff cooking.

“I need food!” I cried.

“You can wait until we get home.”

“No I can’t.  I need food, and I need it now!”

“Well, where do you suggest?  I don’t want coffee shop pannini twice in the same week.”

I had to think hard and effectively on that one.  Graham doesn’t trust much of the food served in my favourite eateries.

“Tell you what.  Let’s give Subways a try.  You can see the sandwich made in front of you, and choose exactly what’s to go in it.”

“Ok,” he said, reluctantly.  “But if I get food-poisoning you’ll have to nurse me.  Again.”

He was pleasantly surprised, though.  We had what they describe as a ‘6-inch Italian G.M.T’ on Italian cheese bread.  Clean, tasty, satisfying, and very, very cheap.

“I’m impressed with this,” said Graham, munching happily.

“Thank heaven for that.  It’s getting hard to find places where you’ll eat these days.”

“I know.  Put it down to seeing the other side of low-grade catering.”

Back home I was dizzy with sleepiness, and tumbled under the coverlet for my siesta.  When I woke I read through the house particulars and was not much impressed.  I’ve marked the draft copy up for revision and we’ll have to take it in to Bridgwater tomorrow.

I fear that I’m already finding this house sale wearisome.  I dreamed about it last night;  always a bad sign.

I did manage to process a few of the house record photographs.  These click-able thumbnails show the ground floor.  The back garden, the breakfast nook, two of the kitchen, the dining room, and the downstairs cloak room:

Thursday February 28, 2008

The agent called on time yesterday afternoon, accompanied by the young lady who’ll be fronting our account in the High Street shop.  They toured, took photographs, we did the paper work and now we’re all signed up.

The sign goes up today or tomorrow and active marketing will start more or less immediately.  I’ve asked them to back-pedal a bit while Graham’s away next week but, essentially, the show is on the road.  In my experience it’ll take about two weeks to get going full steam.

Immediately after they left Graham went round the house with my ‘new’ camera, taking record shots while I prepared lunch.  I’ll be making them up into a proper house site as soon as I can and shall, later today or tomorrow, put up some rough and ready versions here.

 Dolly, of course, was much amused by the invasion of the camera-snappers.

Wednesday February 27, 2008

Busy already today, informing the rejected agents of their lack of success.  I also made contact with Sally our solicitor to check she’s still there and still happy to take our business.  Yes on both counts.

I’d already, by nine a.m., cleaned the cat litter box, given Dolly her breakfast and her run in the garden, showered and scrubbed and presented myself for inspection.

“Will I do?” I asked.

“No.  Go find a different t-shirt.  That one’s got some historic stain on it that hasn’t quite come out in the wash.”

“Oh. Alright,” I said, meekly.  I can do a good meek if the cause warrants the effort.

And so there we go for the morning.  Business all done.  Chores all done.  Nothing to do now but wait for the agent to come and do photographs and such at two o’clock this afternoon.  I shall pop out shortly to fetch provisions for the day but other than that I need do nothing more than avoid making a mess.

Yesterday, in Starbucks in Taunton:

Me:  “This espresso is disappointing.”

Graham:  “I think so, too.”

Me:  “Your espresso is better.”

Graham:  “Thanks.  I think”

Actually, the whole Taunton venture was a disappointment. I was tired and a little jaded and I’d have far rather been home, tucked up for my afternoon nap.  Or walking the cliffs on Cardigan Bay.  Or beach-combing at Aberporth.  As Graham said yesterday:  “I seem to be all Somerseted out.”

Tuesday February 26, 2008

So, then. We’ve had all three of the agents visit, do their valuation thing, state their terms of business, and try to impress us. I fear that we are not too easily impressed when it comes to estate agents.

The first, a young woman we’ll call Ms. Cannabis-odour, was good, got the value about right, and represented a company we could do business with.

The second, let’s call him Mr Squeaky-voice, was the representative fronted by the unpleasantly pushy woman I mentioned the other day.  He was pretty good, and got the valuation very close, too.  He shot to first choice, so much so that we were on the point of cancelling the third guy when common sense caught up with us.

The third guy got it. Not to let him feel overly superior, I shall call him Mr Baggy-eyes. He fronts the largest of the companies we’d selected, and got the valuation spot on. He also knew the job best of all. So we’ve appointed him and he’ll be back tomorrow to take detailed particulars and photographs, and get our signatures on the agency agreement.  None of them charge outrageous fees;  his are the highest by a small margin but in return his company does not tie the customer in to a long-term agreement–all that is required is two weeks notice, at any time.

Insofar as anyone can be happy with estate agents, he’ll do.

All being well, the house will be formally on the market at the end of next week, with a bill-board and glossy pamphlet.  And with pages on the agency websites.  I’ll post the URL here when I know it.

Graham will be visiting his mother next week, returning to take over the job of seeing viewers.

Meantime, we’re scanning the websites for suitable properties out in West Wales, and constructing a short list.  So soon as we have a firm offer on this house I shall hit the road and go off house-hunting.  Assuming the success of both operations we’ll apply the brakes on the sale, gently, and push the purchase as hard as we can, aiming to coordinate the two so’s we can move out of this house and into the new one simultaneously.  It takes careful management, but it can be done.  Failing coordination we’ll pop our stuff into storage and rent something short term in our target area while we wait for the purchase to happen.

Tomorrow we’ll be taking our own photographs of this place so I can make a house website to add to the growing set I’ve been building house by house.

I’m keeping up with the pace but I have to admit that I’m finding it taxing.  And tiring.  I was greatly encouraged when Graham said, on putting the phone down after telling the agent the good news:  “This will be the last time.  I’m too old for this shit.”

All I could think of in reponse was: “Tell me about it.”

Monday February 25, 2008

There. It’s done. The whole house gleams, there’s not a speck of dust or Dolly-fluff to be found anywhere, and Graham is beginning to slow down.  Dolly is wondering why it’s all gone quiet.

The first agent [of three] is booked in to do his valuation job at 11:30.  About two hours to go.

Then we have another booked for 16:00 this afternoon, and the last at 11:00 tomorrow.

This is not a suitable time for high thoughts or fine prose.  We need a high valuation and a fine sale.

We’ll be having our council of war tomorrow afternoon.  Until then, it’s thumb-twiddling time.