Monday January 23, 2006
The real business of the day started with a bang. We’ve been waiting ever since the offer on the house for the agent to send out the standard letters of introduction that are necessary before solicitors can get going. Each day I’ve phoned to ask where they are and each day I’ve been fobbed off with the ‘tomorrow’ line.
The postman came and went this morning and still the letter hadn’t appeared.
I fizzed visibly, so I’m told, right over the Occam’s razor edge between loss of patience and bad temper.
It was with the utmost difficulty, when I phoned the agent to determine the reason for this latest delay, that I kept on the right side of assertiveness. After a long, sad story of excuse and apology, I stated, calmly and politely, that I was not well pleased and that, if the letter was not sent out today, I’d seriously consider taking the business out of their hands.
Then I put the phone down, and vented. Profusely and profoundly.
“Have a cup of coffee, calm down, and then call the buyers to make sure they know what’s going on,” said Graham who is equally impatient but who had delegated the phone calls to me.
The buyers are happy, and proceeding with the mortgage side of their business. We’ve agreed to wait twenty-four hours before taking the agent out of the loop and going it alone.
“I’m going to have to go out for a good walk,” I said. “Need to purge my temper with fresh air.”
“Wrap up warm. It’s cold out there.”
It was, too. I’d donned coat, hat and scarf, but omitted gloves and that was a mistake. Didn’t have it in me to turn back to pick up a pair, though, so I pressed on, keeping one hand in a pocket.
Somewhere about halfway along the lane I was back on an even keel, with the uncomfortable feeling of bad temper fading fast. By the time I got to the little footbridge over the drain I was fully mellow once more.
And I defy anyone to keep a bad mood going while watching ducks on still water, dibbling and dabbling and chattering happily one to another. Even if it is cold, and the sky grey. While ducks still dabble there’s hope for us all.
Halfway back, my legs still bearing up well, I decided to pick up the pace and get a lot closer to a good cardiac work-out for the last fifteen minutes. Worked fine, though when I got to the gate my legs protested with a hearty ‘what the hell do you think you’re upto, old man?’ and I had to drop the pace to a sturdy shuffle up the drive and into the kitchen.
“Feel better for that?” Graham asked, proffering coffee.
“Sure do. All tingly and glowing. Should have worn gloves, though.”
“There’s always something.”