Endgame

Three months after changing agent in a fit of temper, I think I might be getting somewhere. While I’ve been trying in vain to sell my beautiful and very reasonably priced home, I’ve watched over-priced hell holes go from valuation to completion so fast you’d think Usain Bolt was doing the conveyancing.

After some false hope with a first time buyer who thought it was sensible to make an offer that would have given him a 25% discount on the asking price, everything went quiet.

Since August I have lost the House of Bankruptcy and the House of Parties but, inspired by the thought that Mr 25% was going to come in with an offer that wasn’t actually insulting to my intelligence, I viewed what was left on the market and once again, I have fallen in love, this time with the “House of Kitchen”:

So, once again I need to sell and I need to sell fast. Difficult when we are coming up to Christmas and nobody is looking. Until this week. Buyers with nothing to sell appear to be like buses, nothing for ages and then two come along at once.

Today I’ve had a second viewing from a girl who hates my cats, hates my kitchen and has an obsession about the loft and whether it is boarded. How the hell should I know?

After she’d gone home to no doubt decide against purchase or maybe make an offer that is a 30% discount on asking price, I decided to go and buy comfort food to take away the misery that I will be living here forever. While I was out, Idiot Estate Agent phoned up to say there was a couple sitting outside my house and could they view immediately? Bit difficult, I explained, seeing as I was 10 minutes’ drive away. We agreed they could come round in 20 minutes and I rushed home. Idiot agent called again to say they had “given the wrong phone number”, obviously there is no way that agent had taken it down wrong. Luckily for me they called back so the viewing was on …

Weirdest. Viewing. Ever.

First to come into the house was the man, fairly elderly and leaving his wife to park the car. Nice. He walked into the lounge and his first question was “How many coloureds are there on this road?” After I’d spluttered and mumbled a bit I responded with something fairly non-committal. Much as I loathe the BNP and all they stand for, at the moment, if Nick Griffin turned up as a cash buyer wanting to complete in a fortnight I’d say “welcome to your new home”.

I tried to move racist old man away from the window in case the lovely black family living across the road chose that moment to pop to the shops. Ditto the Asian family a few doors up.

Racist old man was not to be moved and then told me his wife was just coming up to the front door. Opened the door to his wife … elderly BLACK lady . What the ???

I can only assume he was working out whether the area is racist or not with a cunning Nazi-sympathising cover-story … but surely there are easier ways to find out.

Weird.

Anyway, they came, they viewed, they showed excessive interest in my Manhattan Skyline photo (perhaps they thought I was a Bin Laden sympathiser as it has the Twin Towers in it) and then went away.

Needless to say, I now have total silence from the agent so am not optimistic of offers. But then, I’ve given up second-guessing viewers.

So, this is the endgame either of the whole game or just of this year. I hope somebody hurries up and buys before the For Sale sign falls over again.

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