Don’t push it

Sunday November 27, 2005

It was supposed to be quiet round here today. I’d promised Dolly it’d be quiet. I’d promised myself it’d been quiet. And, when Graham and I spoke during the morning—weekend telephone rates are wonderful—I’d told him I was planning on quiet, too.

So I got a major shock when, just as I was settling down for a post-brunch nap, the phone rang.

“Hello Mr Bailey. It’s L. here, from the agents. We have a couple here who’d like to view today if possible.”

“Gosh. Didn’t realize you worked Sundays. What time do they want to come?”


“Right you are. I shall look forward to it.”

It was a little past eleven. One and a half hours is pushing it a bit, but I pitched in, airing one half of the house while I vacummed and dusted, then the other, and finishing with a quick wipe over the kitchen and bathroom. Tidied away the things that need to be tidied away, and sat down with fifteen minutes to spare.

A nice couple, from Horncastle, with their own house fresh on the market but, from the sound of it, not likely to be difficult to sell. They really liked the house and it suited them perfectly, with the woman semi-house bound and relishing the idea of the daytime living area of kitchen, dining room and study.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” I said when Graham and I spoke a little later. “I reckon they’re as liable as any of those who’ve viewed to come through.”

“Sounds like you did really well. I’ll treat you to a coffee when I get back.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

“What are the prospects of more viewers next week, do you think?”

“Pretty high. L. said they’d opened the office on Sunday because business has suddenly picked up.”

“Will you be able to cope?”

“Oh, sure. I’ll do a quick clean and wipe each morning to avoid a last minute panic like today.”

“That’s two coffees I owe you, then.”

“Can I have a croissant, too?”

“Don’t push it.”



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