Monday August 22, 2005
It’s been a strange, slightly surreal day. Could have been disturbing if I’d let it.
I was up bright and early, cleaned, tidied, and then sat back to wait for viewers. None. Nary a one. Property of the Week my roseate nose.
Oh, I know, advertisements in the local press don’t work fast. People sit on them for days before acting and, in any case, they’re what the agents do to assure their clients that they’re working when all they’re really doing is waiting.
Even so, it’s felt like a failed party round here today, where you put out the nibbles and the drinks and wait… and wait… and, finally, reach the conclusion that no-one is going to come.
Sad? Well, I suppose so. You get used to it when you’re selling a house into a turgidly slow market, and I’ve done this before.
I think it’s time I turned over into phase two of the long wait. Where you still keep the house clean and tidy but to normal domestic rather than showroom standards, and you pick up the threads of a real life once more. A buyer will turn up, in time, and anyone seriously interested in buying a house isn’t going to be deterred by the odd cobweb or finger of dust, or the fact that you’ve been busy doing something other than sitting around waiting for them to turn up. It looks as if we’re in for a long haul, and life has to go on in the meantime.
There’s one thing certain. At this rate it’d take a perishin’ miracle for a buyer to turn up and click things together before Graham returns home in mid-October.