Friday May 30, 2008
So, there I was, all snoozy and snuggled up with Dolly for a well-earned siesta, when the phone rang.
It was the agents: “Your viewers from Wednesday are leaving tomorrow and have put your house at the top of their list. They’re hopeful of securing an offer on their house next week and wonder if they could come back to you for a second viewing. Say, five o’clock this afternoon?”
Well, what can you say? I said it: “Yes, of course.”
And then I panicked, tidying and airing the house. I was done well before they arrived and they made no secret of their love for the place. Apparently they’ve seen a host of houses and ours is far and away the best. And, for the accommodation, the best priced. An exact duplicate of ours is on the market, two developments away, priced a cool £20k higher. I bet they love us!
So I showed them and their horrid child around (no more horrid than any other child, just that I rate all children as horrid when they tramp my carpets). They drove away determined that, if their house sells, they will make an offer on ours. We’ll have to see. In today’s housing market, more than ever, determination signs no contracts of sale.
Whew! I rewarded myself for devotion to duty by pouring a large glass of plonk. Which was fine. The second wasn’t however. By mid-evening, humming merrily as I prepared my dinner with yet another glass in my hand, I had almost forgot what I was rewarding myself for.
“You sound… tired,” Graham said when he called to get a full update on the repeat viewing.
“Don’t be shilly,” I said. “I’m not tired. I’m pished.”
“Well, for once you’ve earned it.”