Most people are probably aware that certain life events are considered more stressful than others: on the league table of such things, the death of a spouse is considered the most psychologically destabilising common life event, followed by divorce, followed by... moving house.
Now, I've always found this a little odd. Okay, negotiating the property market is anxiety-provoking, but hardly worthy of its Number Three billing. That's until I moved to London, and became aware of the English (as opposed to Scottish) system. We sold our Edinburgh flat almost three years ago and put the money in the bank, intending to rent a place for a few months before buying. Now, finally on the brink of moving, I can see why the flat-purchasing process leads to hair loss.
More irritating by far, though, has been our experience of being the tenants of a rented flat that's been put back on the the 'To Let' market. We're in a large one-bedroomed place near Vauxhall station, and have a very good relationship with our landlord, who just lives across the hall. We gave him two months' notice of our moving date, and he arranged for the estate agents, Ludlow Thomson, to contact us directly when they wanted to set up a viewing.
One week later, Saturday 9am. We're lying in bed when there's the sound of our door being unlocked. Xoc gets up, throws on ratty dressing gown, and there's three people in our hall, having walked in completely unannounced. Estate agent insists "we cleared it with the landlord", I 'phone landlord who says, "they're lying, tell them to fuck off". Xoc (who is good at this sort of thing) tells them to fuck off. They do, thus missing out on our beautiful, sensitively restored period features.
Stroppy telephone call to Ludlow Thomson, making it clear that they clear things with us, not landlord, and the flat is not to be viewed without 'phoning us first. They agree to this.
Following Saturday morning, exactly the same thing. "But we 'phoned half an hour ago and there was no answer". Bollocks. Another non-viewing. And so it goes on. Concerned that we might sour relations with the landlord, we contact Ludlow Thomson and emphasise that we will bend over backwards to facilitate viewing of the flat: we don't need much notice, only a "we're on our way" call to allow us to chuck our clothes on, tidy away the bondage rack, and bugger off to let them look around the place in peace.
For a while, they stick to their side of the deal, and it seems to work well.
However.
Last Friday, dear reader, I was posting (to lucky ol' TMO) from bed, having taken Friday off. It being the humidest day in Humidville, Humizona, I was sprawled naked on top of the duvet, with the laptop on my belly and a freestanding fan going full-blast. Around 10am, I was vaguely aware of the front door opening, and thought Xoc had come home early - until the bedroom door opened and "Rachel from Ludlow Thomson" began to usher a couple in, in mid-flow ("... and it's a nice-sized bedroom - ohmigod, there is someone here!").
Feeling vaguely like John Cleese in A Fish Called Wanda, I moved the laptop down to cover my flaccidity, and said, "erm, yes, there is someone here" - and she just stood there.
Me (still shocked): "A 'phone call would've been appropriate, don't you think?"
Rachel from Ludlow Thomson: "We did 'phone, two hours ago."
Me (waving bedside mobile 'phone and starting to get angry): "No you didn't. You haven't called me, my partner or our landline".
RfLT: "Yes we did. They did. Back at the office. It was obviously a wrong number or something."
Me (angry): "Would you get out, please. Now."
'Phoned Xoc, who was incandescent with rage. I found it more bizarre than anything else: I just couldn't get my head around why estate agents apparently can't comply with something as apparently simple as making a telephone call - or even ringing the doorbell or, for fuck's sake, knocking. Surely this can't be that unusual a scenario? And why then lie, really transparently, about having tried to contact us first?
Cunts, the lot of 'em. |
