Oh, and I almost forgot: One sale! That’s right, one sale! A sale! Sold! Sold! Sold! I couldn’t be happier if I’d won the lottery – well a tenner on the lottery anyway.
The day my six numbers come up you won’t catch me within a mile of my office. Ever again.
But with the chances of that fairly remote I suppose I’d better not give up the day job, even if it might give me up should things continue as they are.
Long gone are the days when you could sell a property within hours of instruction.
Our latest result finally took place after six viewings from the buyer interspersed with applications to three different mortgage lenders – blood from a stone would have been easier – and a last-minute bout of haggling with the vendor over fixtures and fittings, namely a vomit-coloured decorative rug the owner-to-be took a shine to.
Most of our other hopeful vendors weren’t so lucky and fell victim to so-called "prospective buyer" comedians who just want to nose around someone else’s house and then chance their luck by offering 40% of the asking price.
"It’ll be worth less next month," they say.
"Perhaps," I tell them – "but you have to look on it as a medium to long-term investment."
"No we don’t – we just want it cheaper. And we’ll pay cash."
Which, translated, means: "We have a deposit so why don’t they sell?"
The truth is that unless people have to they’re staying put – and that is likely to stay the same until mortgage lending improves and puts more people in a credible buying position.
As for the rest of the week – just in case you thought I’d forgotten about the dog bite etc – here’s what happened.
A vendor forgot to lock their dog away in the garage – giving one "prospective buyer" more than he bargained for when he opened the kitchen door.
Let’s face it, in this market, tearing a lump out of a viewer’s arm is never really going to improve your sale chances.
I tried to bandage him up but in the end had to take him to casualty – where we were entertained by two drunks fighting in the foyer. Needless to say Mr Bite Victim didn’t put in an offer – but he did leave some nasty stains in my Audi.
And the naked tenant? Had a row with his girlfriend and she – yes, she – kicked him out.
One of the neighbours called up the office after he started to bash down the door and was spoiling her afternoon’s viewing of Countdown. She wasn’t amused when I asked if there’d been any vowel play.
I couldn’t rouse the landlord and so there was nothing I could do except call the police who duly arrived and gave the irate tenant some alternative accommodation for the rest of the day.
One way to solve the housing crisis I suppose.
The Secret Agent works in property sales in the Home Counties
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