Accountants, thin doors and badly behaved trolley type of day...

Monday 23 March 2015

Cool and showery 11 degrees

My accountant's emails were starting to sound desperate so I had booked in a visit to see her today.  Over here, the financial year end is December and the accounts are supposed to be in by the end of March.  I find that by cutting it short, the work gets done after the rush and I get the results very quickly.  Note that she had not been desperate enough to actually pick up the phone and ring me.  That happens when you get to the last 7 days.

In the early days, when I was earning stellar amounts of money, I used to be seen by a partner.  When hard times hit, I got busted down to an accounting clerk and we have stayed together ever since.  S is on the telephone when I arrive so I chat to the receptionist N who is a lovely lady and gets slightly fatter every year.  It has been eleven years and she is now filling the chair.  She eases herself out, offers a coffee and settles me into a spartan room with views of the car park.

I have a problem in that I am about to have a good year.  Good years mean I will suffer immense amounts of social charges.  S arrives and shuffles through my paperwork.  I may be always late but it is always complete and well prepared.  The social charges, which pay for health, pension, sickness and a proportion of the national debt (yes, really) are levied at 40% of income after sales tax and related expenses ie my net profit.   I ask her for some ideas of how to reduce my net profit.  She sucks her teeth and suggests I go out for lots of nice meals.  (yes, really).  I say, how about if I buy a new car and what if it is eco-friendly. She says that there is a maximum amount I could spend - 25000 euros but not all of that can be written off - only 18500 euros.  What happens to the rest?  It just stays in your balance sheet.  And that is only for cars with under 20 grams CO2 emissions.  If I were to buy a gas guzzler, I could only write off 9500 euros.  My hatred of the taxation system is rekindled.  Why the hell cant you write off the lot?  S shrugs.  It is the law.

I ask her for other ideas.  She is starting to look hot under the collar.  I say how about if I rent an office.  Yes that would be OK.  How about if I rent an office for myself or keep a room at home and charge expenses (shouldn't these ideas have been coming from my accountant???).  S says how would I pay for that with my current bank balance.  I ask about changing regime to a more favourable one.  S says she needs to ask the partner I used to see.

OH is lurking outside and reading a tome on the Peninsular Wars.  Please don't ask me what these were about.  

We repair to McDonald's which is no where near the amount, apparently, I should be spending on lunch and then go to the large DIY store where we try to find a very narrow door.  OH has decided to try and hide the massive and luminously white water tank which the plumber has stuck onto the wall in the new rental unit.  Finding a very narrow door, as you would imagine, isn't that easy.   There is only one trolley left in the bay and it is of the badly behaved variety, with wonky wheels and rotting base.  OH charges off into the shop, shouting 'follow me' and I try to keep up but the trolley has other ideas and veers off into displays, causing chaos.  It responds neither to pushing or pulling and I have to holler at OH to come back and we contain it by seizing a side each.

It occurs to me that I may be able to find things for my latest crafting obsession so I go in search of a hand drill, spray on glue and silica balls.  Various men send me off on various wild goose chases.  Find OH wrestling with the badly behaved trolley and two metres of long thin wood.  Manoeuvre this and the thin door into the car and I get to sit in the back seat which means I can play on my phone all the way home without OH complaining that I am rude and ignoring him.

I have three missed calls from the would be buyer of the house in town.  I don't know why they keep ringing me.  I cant help them with their dilemma.  I don't have a time machine to go back and get the owners to sign their offer first.  We need to wait to hear from the sellers advocate.  Ring the seller.  Her only defence is probably temporary insanity.  I suggest, very subtly, that she must have been very stressed.  She is very stressed and it is about 15 minutes before I get a word in edge ways.  I suggest a trip to the doctor to TALK ABOUT HER STRESS and get medication might help her case.  I must have been too subtle and she must have been too stressed because she definitely didn't take anything on board.  I cant face talking to the would be buyers.   

We do a catch up of the emails and tasks for the day and I peel two boxes of prawns before going for a swim.  Have a rental enquiry so speak to him and then try ringing some other people who aren't in.  OH makes utterly delicious chili seafood risotto.  

McDonalds - home of the desperate for internet

Thursday 19 March 2015

Cloudy at first with sunny spells later 17 degrees

Technology is a wonderful thing when it works.  The main computer has gotten itself into a real mess and is operating at teenager with chores speed.  On looking at programmed tasks, I discover that the weekly defragmentation is set for 1 am rather than 1 pm and consequently it hasn't been defragged in about six years.  Oops.  On setting it to analyse, it takes about an hour to do 10% so OH goes down to the rental units and I try and load some new properties.  My laptop is also very slow and a speed test shows we are down to .4 of a giga.  Ring up the provider and wail.  She says she will do a manipulation and the speed goes up to 1.4 for about 20 minutes.

OH comes come for lunch and I wail at him and he says go to McDonald's, home of the desperate for Internet.  Bugger, that means getting changed and dragging a comb through my hair.  My face is still very swollen.  The dentist's assistant has rung me twice to ask if I am alright and not in pain.  You wouldn't get that on the National Health.  The stitches are in silken thread, rather than the cat gut to which I am violently reactive, and being sewn up made me laugh.  My reaction certainly surprised my charming dentist.  I bet the number of people who spontaneously exhibit mirth whilst in his surgery, can fit on the head of one of his drills.  Closer inspection reveals that a tiny flake of ceramic has detached itself from the face of the new tooth.  Will have to ring up tomorrow and tell them.  The new tooth is very firmly affixed with glue and laser.  Really don't want them to heave it out but don't want a tooth which is going to disintegrate.

Ring up central admin and tell them about the accepted offer and get the reaction of joy that I had hoped to receive from the vendors.  They log offer for me and I get a number of texts saying well done and a call from the business manager who was really supportive with a nightmare case from last year.   Take dog for quick walk.   Someone has drawn what looks like a star burst in yellow spray next to the telephone pole which carries our Internet.  If they come along with diggers, I may have to chain myself to the pole until they promise to restore Internet within the day.   Last year, I lost Internet for a whole month.  I work from home so I spent a heck of a lot of time in McDonald's or parked outside the Tourist Office.  The staff know I live here so won't let me come in and use the desk space because I am not a tourist. The desks are free for about 98% of the time and it wouldn't kill them to let me use them but they are jobsworth bastards and I hate them intensely.  I deliberately park where they can see me, just outside the window, and get out the laptop in as much of an ostentatious manner as is possible in the driving seat of a hybrid.  When they go home for lunch or at night time, they turn the wifi off.  I did complain to the Mayor's Office and pointed out that my taxes were paying for those people.  Unfortunately, my taxes seem to pay for people in public service whose primary aim is not to serve the public but to obfuscate and preserve their own little domains.

Working at McDo's must be like real estate - either you are overrun with clients or you are mopping the floors and trying to look busy.  There was just one table full of teenagers, eating one bag of chips between them and drinking a selection of soft drinks.  McDo's has recently been updated and redecorated.  Interestingly, the renovation included taking out two of the three ladies cubicles so now there is only one wc for a restaurant which must serve hundreds of people a day.  I got a cappuccino and circled the restaurant, looking for somewhere to plug in the laptop.  The only plug was next to the table of teenagers.  I set up on a nearby table and found that the Internet kept on going off.  I gazed intently at the teenagers who kept ringing people up, putting them on broadcast, and telling the callee they were at McDonald's.  Much shrieking and laughing.  They left just as my laptop was about to crash.

People started coming in again about 5.30 and by the time I left at towards 7, there were quite a number of clients.  I never realised people eat their evening meal here - families were arranged around the long banks of tables and quite a few parents were drinking beer.

I managed to get the rest of the properties loaded, ring and make some appointments and send many emails.  Back home and wrangle the bins down to the corner of the road (150 metres) and find OH has made the fire,fed the dog and washed up.  Tittivate some pizzas with some tomatoes soaked in garlic and olive oil which I find in a bottle in the fridge.  Surprisingly, the main PC has finished defragging and is working at a speed something approaching normal.

It should have been dead but it won't lie down.... with throwing of proverbial hats in the air much later on.

Monday 16 March 2015

Sunny and 17 degrees! Yay Spring at last

I spent most of the morning on the phone with a sale that should have been dead but is refusing to lie down and keep quiet.  

First thing, I ring the head of the agency and she says that because the other agency has signed their buyers and the sellers have co-signed, that any tribunal would go in their favour and my people are too late.  I put the phone down and it rings.  

It is the seller.  She has been talking to the notary I recommended, rather than the one she habitually uses, who only answers his phone for two hours a day.  He is really not that busy and needs to look through the window and notice it is the 21st century.  The notary has said that my buyers may also have a claim because they made a written offer on the 4th March (wtf?  this is the first I have heard of this) and also have had reports done on the roof and the termites (more wtf?).  The notary says the situation is grey rather than black and white. I am sure there is a part of the notary's training on being non committal.  It is probably part of the 'Pass the buck' module.  Both my buyers and the other buyers can state that they have right to purchase and it could go to the Tribunal to decide.  The Tribunal means months of delay.  The seller is manic.  The notary had also told her that if she had gone via me rather than trying to negotiate it herself, then things would have been done correctly. Allowed myself wry smile.

I point out that my buyer has shown himself to be extremely tenacious and she says that he and his wife have been ringing and emailing her for days.  I also point out that he has the time and the money to pursue things to the bitter end.  Would the other couple, who are young and hopefully less bloody minded, also want the time. anguish and not inconsiderable expense of taking on an avocat.  She said she would talk to her partner and they would make a decision.   I put the phone down and it rings.

It is the notary.  Happily, we have just bought a phone which is cordless so I am able to make coffee, do violent gesticulations at the dog who is trying to head off down the lane, and settle myself down with notepad and pen whilst she is talking.  It transpires that the acceptance of the offer of the 4th March was done orally and there is no trace by voicemail, text or email of its existence.  She wants to know if I have any emails or anything else confirming that the sellers agreed.  I say I only have one email and it says that they do not accept the offer and that I was late on the scene.  She says they will have to make a decision and it could end up in court.   I put the phone down and it rings.

It is the would be buyer's wife so I update her with this morning's conversations.  Other phone calls include a very insistent company trying to sell me frozen food because I am such a busy working woman.  Someone else who wanted to tell me about how I could better use the pension I am receiving was surprised to learn that I am still working.  At your age? She said.  Yes bitch.  You bet I am.

The seller rings back and says they have just emailed the other agency to withdraw.  He rang them immediately and was very annoyed.  They had words.  He said he would talk to his notary (good luck with that one - it is the one who doesn't answer his phone) and get back to them.  He rang them back later and said that they should get an avocat.

Discover the dog has taken the opportunity to run off and have to get in the car and find him. He is a total moron.  For the first 11 years of his life, he didn't run off.  Now he does it at all possible opportunities.

I unplug the phone and we watch Bargain Hunt and have corned beef sandwiches with brown sauce and rocket salad. It is a moment of sanity in an otherwise insane day.  

Early afternoon I go to see the English couple who found me in the phone directory (we thought you might speak English).  Their phone call was a real surprise as I am just listed under my name with 'estate agent' as a label.  The first time in 11 years anyone has rung me from this source.   The property is in a neighbouring departement and is typical of the regional style with long sloping roofs and a large central hallway with rooms off.  It has a holiday home feel.  In a full time home, the furniture, fittings, pictures and paraphernalia accrete over a period of time.  Holiday homes, everything is bought together and then spread over the rooms.  There were pictures that you really wouldn't want to look at on a regular basis.

It was basic but the rooms were flooded with light and there was a barn which was large enough to convert but not so huge that it is a money pit.  Would it do for the clients of last week, now in a state of 'complete indecision' because they loved the house but not the road. Stood outside and listened.  Road about the same distance away as the other house but shouldn't carry as much traffic.   Discussed the price and they said they would talk to the children and get back to me.

Go for a swim and not very many people in the pool.  Bliss.  Do my regulation 20 lengths and sit in the bubbles and bob.

Back home and OH has fishing stuff everywhere.  My hoard is nothing on his.

There are many messages on the phone but it is time to Skype my Russian clients.  They appear on the screen, with angelic golden haired children who say hello and eat large, juicy looking apples.  They want to buy the house they drove 3500 kms to see.  They want to buy it cash with no messing around.  We are all very, very happy.  Behind them, through their kitchen window, the light fades and night falls.  They say it is below zero.  I say it is still light for at least a couple of hours and it is 15 degrees.  Mica says not to worry, he has not got cash from criminal activities.  This is what you must call Russian humour.

I ring the owners who have been on pins.  I tell them the good news and expect to hear sounds of joy.   They are shell shocked.  They have to move country with a large herd of animals.  They are thinking 'oh crap.  This has suddenly got real'.  I am deflated at their reaction so OH gives me alcohol, the universal cheerer upper.

He rustles up spicy stir fry chicken and disappears to watch football.  It is now late and I feel on my last legs but have to do VAT return.  Collapse to bed.

Mothers Day and Floralie

Sunday 15 March 2015

Cloudy with sun later
14 degrees

Mothering Sunday

No contact at all from eldest.  He will have been very busy making lovely lunches for other people's mothers so can't claim he didn't know it was Mothering Sunday.  WF sent card but didn't bother ringing and he only sent card because OH reminded him.  Feel seriously unappreciated.  I should have had girls.

Woke up excited about going to the Floralie with a good friend.  The phone rang at 9 am and my friend is in tears because her former husband has just died unexpectedly.  She is in a terrible state and is going back to the UK immediately.  Give her a big virtual hug.  He is the father of her boys and although a lot of thrashing water has gone under their bridge, she is still very upset and is going back to support her boys during the weeks to come.

Have tea in bed and decide to go anyhow.  I do enjoy going places on my own - it gives me the opportunity to take my own route, stop to take photos or coffee, and spend as much or as little time at the venue as desired.  The motorways are empty, especially the one going to the vast city to the north which opened three years ago, and is so expensive that no one goes on it.  I do 20 kms and am charged 3 euros for the privilege.  If I tell you the full length is 200 kms, you will have an idea.  

Leaving the motorway, the landscape becomes flattened out and the architectural style evolves into beautiful river stone and slate rooves.  The road rises and the village is perched on the top, its tall church looking out over the resting fields and the distant haze of the mountains. 

For a small village, it is crammed with cars and I have to bump up on a pavement.  I ring OH to tell him I have arrived and he says he can't talk long as he has accidentally super glued his fingers together.  That will keep him busy.  Remind him that he promised to cook dinner tonight.

The flower show is spread out in front of the Mayor's office.  The central courtyard is full of plants and shrubs, with a particularly fine display of roses.  Mustn't buy anything big.  I am tempted and plump for some salvia argentii, some medium height echiums and an interestingly ribbed and rampant prostrate euphorbia.  Hats off to anyone who wants to hold the National Collection of that family.  With 7500 species in 275 genera, the spurge family is huge.  If you want to pop along to Oxford Botanic Garden, you can see a mere 2000 of them

http://www.botanic-garden.ox.ac.uk/euphorbia-collection

a euphorbia sort of like the one I bought

http://www.anniesannuals.com/plants/view/?id=907

  Oh no said OH, it reminds me of death.

I also succumbed to some beautiful resin jewellery and treated myself to some wild carrot earrings and a leaf ring.

For good measure, the show also included some small farmyard animals including chickens, cockerels, a pig with a long shoelace tail, some vocal goats and their sooty black kids.

By roads (almost) unadopted and woodlanded ways, I drove back home through the early Spring haze.  Email from my Russian clients saying their want to speak tomorrow on Skype and that they had really enjoyed their day with us, that it was like a breath of fresh air and that the lady and I were soul mates.  After all the (word that sounds like twits) of last year, they are a joy.

After dinner (OH had unstuck his fingers), the seller of the house in town rings me and is at her wits end.  She said her would be buyer (wbb) would not stop ringing and emailing and what was I going to do about it.  Her other phone then rang and she said, Merde its them again and hung up.   Her phone was then engaged for quite some time and she finally rang me back and said that they were insisting on buying because they had made the first offer and they were threatening to take her to Tribunal to force her to sell.  I calmed her down and said I would ring wbb but before I could dial his number, the phone rang again.  I told wbb that he could not threaten the seller, that it was very bad form and that he had no legal grounds to do so as she had not co signed his offer.  I also told him that he needed to up his offer significantly, which he did.  I then rang back the seller, who still sounded fraught, poor woman, and told her the new offer. This cheered her up no end until she spoke to the other agent who told her that, because she had co signed the offer made by his buyers, that they could actually take her to the Tribunal and force her to sell.  I rang various people and no one answered so I googled it and it appears the other agent is correct.  In the eleven years I have worked in real estate, a number of buyers have backed out but I have never encountered a seller who has wished to do so.  I need legal backup from the head office.

Watched the rest of Metropolis and actually managed to keep awake.  It grew on me but the acting is seriously, and I mean seriously, OTT.

Cleaning woes and surprise contrition

Saturday 14 March 2015

Sunny with light breeze
16 degrees

Crawled out of bed early to clean.  Why do stupid houses get so sodding dirty so quickly. Thought I was making progress until I glanced up from my toilet cleaning and noticed that the ceiling of the loo was covered in black mould.  Attached a cloth to the mop and whacked it all off.  It left a stain on the plaster so hid it by artfully placing a large scented candle at the back of the unit and lighting it so that the unsuspecting client wouldn't put on the ceiling light and notice the mess.   The problem with the septic tank is still ongoing so there is a nasty niff on the upstairs landing.  Opened all the windows, put just a little bleach down the offending sink (apparently it doesn't kill the septic tank if you only do it occasionally) and topped it off with some bio drain cleaner.  Another scented candle.  A real dogs dinner of perfumes was now emanating from the landing but at least it no longer resembled eau de merde.

The main water pump isn't pumping and the Karscher is on its last legs so the patio looks dreadful.  I wished I had left the dead leaves where they were, as the muddy residue underneath them looks even worse.

The people were on time and were driving a natty Mini Cooper, accompanied by the agent. I like to watch other agents to see if I can pick anything up from them - Kirsty Allsopp is one of my favourites, as is Phil Spencer.  I have a notebook to hand to write down good phrases that they use.  This agent seemed very deferential.  I am not convinced this works with the French.  I think they need directing or they run all over the place.  It is like herding geese and they also have a tendency to bite you when you are not expecting it.  The trick is to expect it.

They went around for an hour and the lady said that she was worried that (a) people would not be able to find the house.  It is only 6 kms out of town for heavens sake - has she never heard of signage? (b) what if she met another car coming the other way.  In the 11 years we have lived here, I have never met someone coming the other way.  I said one of you would have to reverse.  Oh, she replies, I am not sure that the renovations we want to do will be affordable at the price you are asking.  So, that old cherry comes out of the syrup again and shows its wrinkly face.  They leave and I tell the agent that we are going to have to put the price up as the Euro has now sunk to 1:42 against the Pound.  At this rate, we would be lucky to afford a chicken hut to live in.  He says how would I feel if he asked me to do that.  I say that's economics for you.  He left, looking sad rather than deferential.

OH comes back from flat painting and says that French people are never going to buy our house so he doesn't know why I bothered cleaning up.  We have words.

The skies go black and the dog needs walking so we go into the nearby large town and do some shopping and go for a very quick walk between the violent showers.  Dog very happy. Why do dogs not mind getting absolutely soaked on a walk but you can't get them through the door to do a pee when there is light drizzle?   It is the first day of the fishing season so OH drags a very reluctant me to the fishing shop where I get fawned over by the creepy guy who runs it. OH takes me because it means he gets served immediately.  I don't want a strange man holding my hand, kissing it, and then not letting it go whilst enquiring about the health of the local property market.  You know when people invade your personal space and you can smell their body odour mixed with garlic and cigs?  That one.

The phone is ringing when we get back and, to my amazement, it is the suddenly contrite would be buyer (wbb) of the house in town.  He is now prepared to pay reasonable agency fees and suggests a small increase in price.  I ring the sellers who are at their wits' end because, it transpires, the wbb is ringing them and emailing them non stop. They turn down the slightly increased offer and so I transmit this info by email to wbb's.

OH is in charge of the remote control and he flicks briefly onto Ant and Dec's Saturday Night In.  Flavia Focaccia and partner Vincent are doing a spirited and passionate Argentine Tango.  Vincent spins Flavia in 180 degree circle and the audience burst into applause. Wow, I say, that was good!  What says OH?  That move they just made.  OH - I didn't see it. I was looking at the door.  

He then put on another dreadful German film - Metropolis by Fritz Lang.  This put me into a deep sleep, from which I periodically surfaced to ask what was happening.  OH gets annoyed and says how can he concentrate if I keep on talking.  It is a silent film.  It is four hours long.  And subtitled.  You could prescribe it on the National Health  for insomniacs with an urge to learn German and how to act in an excessive manner.  I can certainly recommend it, although it is the keeping awake thing that is more of a problem for me.

Eastern charm and llamas

Thursday 12 March 2015

Cloudy with slight drizzle warming to sunny periods later
14 degrees

Wake at six to write as I am getting behind on my vow to write every day.  The discipline of waking, making tea, sniffing the morning with the dog through the back door and then heading back to bed with the laptop is a daily rigour to which I have well adapted and look forward to.

Awaken OH at seven thirty and we are away and heading off into the new day by eight, with the suns rays glancing off the windscreen and the heat of our bodies misting up the glass. The motorway is clear until we approach the capital city.  The GPS recommends coming off at that point but OH wisely decides to carry onto the next exit.  Looking over at the A roads, they are crammed.  We finally come off and have to look for a bar.  Travelling with a man of a certain age is reminiscent of journeys with the boys when they were little.  When they had to go, they had to go.   I text the clients and say very sorry, we are running a little late and have a coffee whilst OH is otherwise engaged.

20 minutes later we arrive in the town and wait in front of the nattily appointed Tivoli Hotel. Built in the early 20th century it is a solid, rectangular building with a matt pink facade.  The bedroom balconies have beautiful metal basket guard rails and the roof is angular and decorated with intricate metalwork. 

'What is the guy's name'? asks OH 
'Mica' comes the reply, over my shoulder.  

We turn and see a man as tall and pale as a silver birch, with fine blond hair and baby blue eyes.  He is smiling nervously and is casually dressed.  Mica (name changed) wife emerged from their Russian car.  She was also slight and pale with shoulder length wavy chestnut hair but more eye level for me and shook hands shyly. She was wearing a floaty Indian top with shiny inserts and open toed sandals and many crystal bangles.

I like to dress according to the client and it also gives me confidence.  However, I don't always get it right.  When getting dressed this morning, I had channeled my inner Russian and was wearing black and grey striped trousers, subtly shiny Per Una Blouse, bright yellow belt sporting one or two metal west highland terriers, shrimp pink scarf and sage green woollen jacket.  I was somewhat off the mark.  

We were stunned that they were in their own car and asked how long they had taken to get here 'three days' was the response.  They had left home where it was -5 and had driven through Russia, Estonia, Latvia, Germany and France.  'it was an adventurous' they smiled. We all then got back into our respective cars and went to see the property.

Typical of the region, the buildings are laid out around a large central courtyard which has been planted with herbs and roses and is where the owners do breakfast and afternoon teas.  The house is rectangular and has a low pitched orange tiled roof.  The facade is faced with river stone pebbles taken from the large rivers which run through the department. Behind the courtyard, the land extends for acres towards the far trees and is dotted with the beautiful cream and fluffy creatures that give the house its name.  They come over to see us and their nostrils flare and suck in the air that carries our scent.

OH stays in the kitchen and talks to the owners and I commence the visit.  This is a property which is a delight to visit but even so, I have never had such appreciative clients.  As each door opened and the room was revealed, they emitted gasps of wonderment.  'it is so beautiful' 'it is much better than even photos'.  The lady owner then comes to show us the bed and breakfast part and then her workshop.  She spins and dies the wool from her animals and is also a knitwear designer.  

For a passionate crafter like myself, going to this property is not work.  The wool is ranged over a long series of shelves and is of many hues.  The dies are taken from materials that are foraged over the local area and over the seasons.  There are creams, pale sage greens, berry red and purple, fern and cinnamon tones.  I stroke them and think, if I sell the property, would she be prepared to give me a good price.  This type of wool is astonishingly expensive to buy normally and to have enough to make a shawl, would be quite an investment.

We then go to see the livestock and the animal housing.  The boys come up to see us and submit to stroking.  Their wool is dense and soft as a shag pile carpet.  They are tall, close up, and they look down at me, their faces surprisingly small compared to the thickness of their necks.  I spot OH in the courtyard, watching with interest as two cats sort out their differences in a particularly violent fashion.

 At one point I am surrounded and the owners says 'dont get behind them - just push your way through'.

Two hours later and we are back at the Tivoli and have a long talk.  I ask them what their plans are, now that they have arrived, and they say that they just came to see this house and are now heading back home to speak to their children.  At the car, they give us presents - a bottle of spiced rum and a pretty dish bearing the name of their town.  At the last minute, the lady (who is a reiki teacher) presses a rose quartz crystal into my hand.  We go and have a McDonald's and reflect that there are good and lovely people out there and we have just been fortunate enough to spend a morning in their company.

Tonight is the GBSB Final and it is the rank outsider who wins, largely because the other two contenders, who have been stronger all the way through, had a rush of blood to the head and made utterly bizarre garments which were ugly and unstylish.

Lorna made what was a beautiful dress with long overskirt but then put on enough purple tulle to satisfy a Transylvanian transvestite.  Neil presented a never before seen garment to the world for the alteration challenge - it is not wearable said the judge, sniffily.  He then made a dogs dinner of a dress which didnt fit well and was of a number of materials which didnt sew together well.  It was as if they had thrown away the chance to win.

Matt's winning dress was truly avant guard - so much in fact that his very petite wife had trouble walking over to the judging.  It was however beautifully executed and stylish.

There is a nasty smell somewhere.....

Tuesday 10 March 2014

Sunny

With Easter coming up fast on the rails and the Euro now just brushing 1.40 against the Pound Sterling, I am on the hunt for fresh stock to fill my pages.

The first property is at the lower end of the price spectrum and is in a very pretty market town.  The owner is lurking in the ground floor shop when I arrive and flicking dust off the faux Tiffany lamps.  We go via a side passage and into the tiny courtyard.  The walls of the surrounding houses rise high above us and I ask when, during the day, the sunlight arrives. Between midday and 2 is good apparently.  It feels dank and cold and the owner says it is easier to appreciate in the heat of Summer.  Sad plants etiolate towards the light.  

Into the house and there is a small kitchen, leading into a large living area with beautiful exposed stone walls, oak floors and full height patio windows leading out onto the balcony. Two excitable small dogs bounce out to meet us - a King Charles cocker spaniel and a Chihuahua.  They are evidently the source of the terrible odour in the building.  I don't have much of a sense of smell but it is making my eyes water.  I throw open the patio doors to 'enjoy' the view and get a couple of lungfuls of fresh air.  The chihuahua tries to throw himself off the balcony so, alas, the doors are closed.  I get the chance to see the new roof that was put on my rental units building, opposite and normally too steep to see from the street, and realise that the roofer has not put on traditional tiles on the facade side, but has covered the entire roof in new ones.  What has he done with the thousands of old and valuable tiles which he took off?  Fortunately the local technical services have not said anything but normally new is not allowed right down in the centre.

There are two more floors and more bedrooms though only one bathroom.  In the corner of the bathroom is a toilet, with no visible means of flushing it.  In response to my question of how do you flush it, the owner lifts the lid and presses a button.  To my absolute horror, there is a deposit in the bowl and a lot of filthy paper.  We both watch, me in ghastly fascination, as the contents circulate and are then sucked out.  Voila!  says the owner happily.

I escape as soon as possible.  Perhaps the smell is in the furnishings?  Perhaps one of the dogs had just had an accident.  Everywhere.

I get back in the car and drive to the next appointment, windows wide open and gasping in lungfuls of non malodorous air.   The road rises above the town and the panorama of rolling hills and valleys opens up, the grass sparkling and fresh in the afternoon sun.  A buzzard circles high overhead and tiny fluffy clouds mackerel the upper skies.

The next house is 18th century and a thing of beauty.  I recognise it as one I had on sale many years ago in a previous terrible existence as an agent in a national French chain.  The interior arrangement of rooms have been completely reworked into a more logical sequence.  Everything is in nickel order and smells absolutely wonderful - pine and vanilla and cinnamon.  It is typical of the area with its hewn stone window encadrements, orange tiled roof and great arched entrance.

A satisfactory end to the afternoon and I go home and still have no news from the would be buyers.  I wonder what they are trying on now?

Art deco and angst

Monday 9 March 2015

Sun with lots of wispy white cloud
6 degrees rising to 14

First things first.  Ring up the couple who run the agency with whom I work and explain that the seller of the house is in torment and the buyer has currently refused to pay more than 50% fees.  First round is described in this post

http://leavingmynormal.blogspot.fr/2015/03/the-perfidy-of-human-nature-or-how-low.html

We chew it over and the head of the agency says that the problem is that if we agree to 50% too quickly, the would be buyer may well come back with an even lower offer.  He suggests we knock off another 10 % and see how that goes.  He also says I could ask the sellers to drop another 1000 euros off their net.  I can't ask them to do this and I won't.  They are already selling 30% below market value.  Oh if only someone would appear out of the blue with enough cash burning a hole in their pocket!   Decide that, rather than naming the sum, to ask the would be buyers to come up a way and, in view of the fact that they are five hours behind in time zone, sent them a carefully worded email.  I believe that when negotiation is delicate then you need to set out your points and give the parties time to chew over them. Other times, you need to be like a swift scimitar but today was not one of those times.

Another blind offer comes in, again over 30% lower than the asking price.  I ring up the enquirer.  She has no idea how much she can spend because she has not made any enquiries about her lending capacity.  Notwithstanding this, they are out in six weeks.  I pass on our banking and lending partner details and send some details of properties which may fit the bill.  A client from the far plains where once roamed Hannibal emails to confirm our RV on Thursday.  I suggest a property to him that has just come back onto the books.  A gorgeous mill - reservation contract signed 10 months ago - and the buyer has just admitted that he hasn't got enough credit to buy.  The sellers are fuming with the agent who apparently hasn't communicated with them, and left them to deal directly with the notary. 

This is my second bite of the cherry on this mill.  A couple from the US made an offer on it with me within two months of it coming onto the market.  The notary (with whom I no longer work after this debacle) had one month to produce the reservation contract.  Despite my providing him with all the information and documentation from the parties, four weeks later it was not ready.  The reservation contract is a pro forma into which individual information is slotted.  My clients got on a boat to cruise back to the States.  By the time they got off the boat, they had changed their minds.  If they had signed before they had got on the boat, it would have been too late to change their minds when they disembarked.

This notary was also the one who insisted that another couple of my buyers, come back from the UK to sign the reservation contract, instead of signing a power of attorney.  They duly came back, popped around to see the owner without my being present, and the owner decided to show them all the saltpetre behind the furniture.  They were terrified and didn't sign.  Saltpetre isn't anything to worry about and is present in a lot of old houses.

If you have a burning urge to read more about saltpetre, here you go

http://leavingmynormal.blogspot.fr/2015/02/there-is-something-in-water.html

After lunch I head off south and the mountains are glorious and covered with snow as thick and crisp and glossy as Royal Icing.  The seller contacted me after I had spontaneously contacted all of the local gites and chambres d'hôtes to try and find some interesting new property.  I thought I was going to see a gite so imagine my joy when it turned out to be an early 18th century manor house plus a gite plus two hectares of land!

The owners have a thriving chambre d'hôte business and they showed me around the bedrooms.  Each one had its theme - one was art deco and had life size murals of willowy 1920s ladies painted onto the plaster panels which framed the fireplace.  There were stained glass feature windows in deep river greens and cinammons and oranges and a freehand painted chain of ivy romping around the dado rail.  Another room had special straw plasterwork and the walls had a delightful matt texture and, on close inspection, tiny chips of embedded straw.  In this room, chalk paint had been used on the doors and fireplace.  One room was being made over and the new sink was made of stone which came from Romania and contained many shell fossils.  

Typical of a manor house, the tall pitched roof was slate tiled and plaster rendered, with interior shutters as well as exterior.  The windows were framed with substantial stone revetments and some were in original early 18th century style with a thick band of stone forming the base of the upper two panes in a typical two upper/one lower page configuration.

We had coffee in the drawing room and I told them that I needed to go home and think about the price.  It is going to be around a million.

Considerably buoyed by this experience, I went next to see the house of the couple whom I had met whilst walking around the lake on Sunday.  A large contemporary property, it sits on the outskirts of our town, and is on a normally very quiet lane.  A few years ago, a terrorist came to stay with his mother and was hoicked out by the national police, but that is another story.  They have two cocker spaniels with huge doleful eyes.  One was called Noggin, a word which makes me laugh.   The house was well built but suffers from its location on the plot.  Once built, the owners realised that the only way you could see the views was from upstairs, so they have an 'upside down' configuration with a huge upstairs room and balcony and bedrooms and bathrooms downstairs.  The kitchen was large and the man proudly showed me how every cupboard and drawer worked.  He must have spotted my huge doleful eyes looking at the De Longhi coffee machine because, after a while, he finally finished showing me the last drawer and offered a drink.  We sat outside and the sun was warm and they told me about their travels and the dogs invited us to throw golf balls.

Home at 6.30 and OH still down the rental units so I whip up a huge Spanish omelette and salad.  Very tired - ran out of my thyroid medication two days ago.   

No reply from the would be buyers but, thanks to natty programme called Sidekick, I know that they have opened the email seven times during the day.

Bug tussling and blown tyres

Wednesday 18 February 2015

Cloudy 10 degrees with drizzle

Conversation with OH this morning - OH 'I had to get up in the middle of the night'  Me 'that was quarter to eight'.  He is not good in the mornings and was in a complete fog when I woke him up with a cup of tea.  Said he was out fishing with Ed Milliband and Ed was a completely rubbish fisherman.  Think lack of fishing activity is getting to him.

He dropped me off at the supermarket to get some oil for the heater and went to get a birthday card. He was absolutely ages.  Finally he turned up and parked at the far end of the car park and started gesticulating.  I had to drag over the heavy fuel oil to the car only to find out that we had yet another puncture.  Fortunately all of the stuff to change the wheel was still in the car so it didn't take too long.  

Back home for lunch then to garage to declare unhappiness with tyre.  Had to go alone as OH went back on painting duty.  The garage man said the tyre had been driven on whilst flat and was completely knackered so I had to have another one.  OH was not pleased. Monthly budget, like the tyre,  well and truly blown.  Walked the dog and mulled over whether I should go and do a Show in the North where I could have free stand plus accommodation. Need to get the website up and running first.  Had felt excited about the prospect at first but then remembered Shows are very hard work and you don't necessarily get as many clients from them as you would wish.  Also clashes with Blues Festival, unbelievably.  I would have to create an Association, which means having to share control with two other people and I don't want to do that either.  Unusually for me, felt indecisive.

Happily, no football on the telly tonight.  Watched recording of the Beverly Hill Billies again. Granny mentions that she wants to get away from all them city folks and back to good old Bugtussle.  Amazingly, there is actually a town by the name of Bugtussle

Bugtussle, Oklahoma is an unincorporated community^[1] located off Bucklucksy Ln. on the shores of Eufaula Lake, adjacent to Robbers Cave State Park, in Pittsburg County, Oklahoma, USA,^[2] with a population of "a few hundred". The community began in 1903 with the construction by a Mr. Ran Woods and others, of a two room log schoolhouse on the site. The schoolhouse is still standing, and was once attended by former speaker of the US House, Carl Albert. The settlement was allegedly named by Mr. Woods who felt that the bugs at the site were so numerous, that they were a never ending "tussle" for him to deal with.^[3] The name "Bugtussle" was also the name of the town where the fictitious Beverly Hillbillies of TV series fame, had once lived before moving to California (according to some episodes, although other episodes alluded to other possible places of origin).

Bugtussle is about 6 miles (9.7 km) northeast of McAlester. The town was renamed Flowery Mound about 1907, but the original name persisted.^[4]

Gritting my teeth day....

Monday 16 February 2015

Brilliant sunshine then lots of rain
8 degrees rising to 12

Woke up early and wrote for an hour.  Worried that early typing activities are ruining my eyesight so turn up text to really large size. Have taken to doing eye exercises during my walks but this is somewhat hazardous as I am both short sighted and cross eyed and can't actually see where I am walking.  May be better to do these whilst I am swimming as it is quite hard to fall over in the water.  People swim into one another all the time in our pool.

Had FB message from French guy (no idea at all who he is) who informed me that French is dying out in France and that English is taking over.  He quoted stats showing that English speaking countries have stronger economies and brighter futures.  I pointed out that it wasn't the fact that we were English speaking - it was that we had a culture of encouraging enterprise and entrepreneurs. Thought of great George Bush saying, 'the French have no word for entrepreneur'.  A friend working in France tells me the latest madness that people are no longer allowed to develop outbuildings next to their houses, if they live in a rural area. The buildings will have no value and will not be maintained.  Well done, French administration.  Lets see how long it takes you to do a U turn on that one.

Went to motorway exit and waited for clients.  They were late and didn't apologise.  Man was pleasant and woman looked like she had swallowed a prune.  An aged relative was parked in the front seat and she didn't get out of the car all morning, so they had to make sure that she was facing south and kept warm.  We set off, them following and I nervously put on the GPS and really hoped it wouldn't take me back up the scary stony road which it had selected last time I had been to this particular property.  Fortunately it didn't and I learned a new way to chop off a huge section of road in order to get from A to B.  We got to the house and the mountains and meadows were sparkling and the house looked great.  

I found the key and we went in and opened up the shutters and the house was terribly cold. The man was enthusiastic and the woman still said nothing.  I wondered if she was mute. The only time she showed any reaction was when I was having trouble opening a side door and she attempted to wrestle the key off me and barked 'give it to me'.  I retained hold of it. If anyone is going to be breaking keys, it will be me.   We went round the house and gardens and she checked on Granny then we were off to the next house.  I got a bit lost and we did a bit of unexpected dirt road driving which meant their delightful conker coloured car had a mud skirt by the time we arrived at the next house.

The mountains had retreated behind a curtain of approaching rain so we started with the interior.  'lots of sodding dusting here' said the woman.  That put a damper on things.  We went back downstairs and the owner took them out to show them his garden, which is his pride and joy.  The other owner offered me a coffee so I gratefully accepted.  She told me about their previous life as successful estate agents, letting agents and property developers. Back in the days when houses were 250000 francs in the Lot et Garonne.  'We were selling 6 houses a week!'.  Resisted grinding my teeth.  Not that effing easy these days, lady.  She said they were going to go and live in Spain in an area where 'quality Brits' live and not the package holiday lot.  I had had enough and went to retrieve my clients from the garden with the hope of getting them back to my town and making them fall in love with it.  They declined, saying Granny needed to get back.

Felt rather fed up.  Went back home and discovered the water pump is pumping constantly and so we had to turn it off which meant we had no cold water in the kitchen.  OH did list of our expenditure this month and said it was too high.  He went back down to the rental units and I walked the dog in the rain and then rang people up.  Last week's first client said he had decided against the only house I had managed to show them - neighbour too close and garden too steep and the second client said he had only just got back to his remote island and didn't want to be pressured.  Ate mince pies.  Prepared mussels, squid and prawns for paella.  OH arrived back home in bad mood so I went for a swim.  Apparently the pool now always closes at 7 pm so I only got a 15 minute thrash up and down.  Preston North End against Man U in the fakup.  Lost 3-1.

Easy Rider revisited

Friday 13 February 2015

Mild 4 degrees rising to 15
Sunny with tiny mackerel cloud banks

Rise early with sunlight filtering through the shutters.  A frisky wind is chasing the leaves around the courtyard and the crows are cawing in the high poplars.  Put on full war paint and smart clothing ahead of Austrian client visits.  Austrian rings to say he is still 80 kms away and thinks he can do it in half an hour.  I suggest 45 minutes is more appropriate and take the delighted dog for a quick walk.

An hour later, I am in the town hotel foyer with the Austrian, who reminds me of a rugged, older version of Peter Fonda in Easy Rider.  He has round steel rimmed glasses which change hue with the sunlight and likes 'a little smoke'.  He has done many continents on the back of a Harley Davidson and worked all over the world.

thanks Rolling Stone magazine

He now wants to find a house which is 'it'.  He currently lives on a remote island at the top end of Europe.  His wife wants something livelier.  My colleague had told me that they didn't want a house in the town, they didn't want neighbours, they wanted lots of land. Ah no! said the client 'I have changed my mind on all that, we want to be able to walk to the shops'.  I say silent thanks to perspicacity that lead me to bring a whole bag full of keys for all types of housing.  

First house is south about 15 minutes.  The owner lurks in the garden and his gorgeous dogs follow us around, sitting in the doorways whilst we look at the rooms, and wagging their tales encouragingly.  The kids have left home and there is a lot less clobber in their rooms.  Discover it has made it all into the loft, but there is plenty of room up there.  The client sniffs and has a little smoke and says the house is too classic, too square.  I think he may be concerned by the bamboo also.  The owner had pointed to a fresh springy 9 metre outcrop and said it was last seasons growth.  Must remind him not to say that to future buyers.  He has fortunately stopped telling people about Japanese bamboo torture techniques.  You can know too much about bamboo imo.

We go to the next house and he says the village is 'not interesting'.  Actually it isn't at all. We go to the nearest village and have another coffee and another little smoke.  He tells me that he is very impressed with my area and it is much more interesting than to the north. The locals peer at him through the steamy windows (we are the only ones on the terrace and the frisky wind is doing nothing for my coiffure) like he is an exotic specimen, which he is.  

Back to my town and I discover I havent brought the right keys for the house we are standing outside of.  He doesnt like it anyway.  To last house and he is very impressed and takes many, many photos.  I drop him back off at the hotel and catch up with OH at the rental units.  He is sanding and the air is full of particles.  Back home and have lunch and walk dog and do masses of dishes (again!) and battle with fire.  Feel very tired.  Have remains of last night's chili.

Talk on Skype to WF who is progressing well and making sales.  He says two people have been fired - one for leaving messages in an Indian accent (hilarious!!) and the other for refusing to do outbound calls.  OH talks to him about doing professional exams.  He has had today and yesterday off and is working the weekend.  He is also earning more than RJ from whom we have not heard in a few weeks.

Playing on the heartstrings of desperate people

Thursday 12 February 2015

4 degrees rising to 15!

Rose early to listen to the replay of E Herv Eker's 'Masterclass' on MindValley.  If possible, it was even lighter on content than that of Christie Sheldon and lasted two and a half hours. The joy of the replay is being able to bypass the obligatory sob story (76 minutes) and then, what a surprise, he makes a breakthrough by embracing the idea that he can be spiritual and really, really, really (he loves repetition) rich.  He also gives us the nugget that your route to success must match who you are.  Much, much later, he does a visualisation of being at a fork in the road and going in the right hand direction and all is bad etc etc and how does that make you feel and then back to the fork in the road and take the left hand road and all is wonderful.  And to take the right fork, you have to buy his Spiritual Laws of Money products and they are nearly 300 dollars.   Apparently 147 people signed up for this crap on the first day.  Oh, sad and desperate people.   If Eker is indeed a multi, multi (counted to ten on his fingers) millionnaire and desperately wants to help people, why the fuck is he charging them?   The first step to being a millionnaire is to have your scruples cut out and burn them.   Decided to write a help book myself.

Dropped off utility vehicle for MOT then back home to drop off OH and go to meet today's clients.

Hung around in a car park, waiting for the clients, and they were waiting in a different car park.  Finally met up and took them to the house and they were impressed by the interior, which is indeed lovely.  They were not so keen by the barricades erected by the frankly strange neighbour and also there were quite a few trees.  They are selling because there are a lot of trees and the guy is fed up of picking up the leaves.  We are there for well over an hour.  They are going to draw up a list of favourite properties to revisit next week and will then make a decision.  I suggest two other properties and send them the details.

Back home and find OH just about to take the dog out and did I want to trail around in the mud with him.  No I didnt.  Not pleased to find that, yet again, no dishes washed and crap all over the floor.  Cleaned up, in bad mood.  Filed papers that were trailing around everywhere.  Looking at my meter readings for the rental units, I really hope I have read them incorrectly because the difference between last years consumption and this one is absolutely vast and over 1000 euros.

Made chili and did the VAT return online after having turned out all my bags and pockets to find the maximum of chargeable receipts.

Down at the gym, my subscription card had disappeared and no one was available to help so I took the card of a person with a similar sounding name and dived into the blissfully warm and frothing waters.  The lifeguard did notice and I said it was a mistake and he said OK and went back to throwing the bikes in the small pool for the aquabike session.  They landed with some force and large waves splashed over the people who were still doing lengths.  Sod health and safety.  You have just got to love it.

Did 30 lengths and the sun shone on the water and steam rose off the wavelets.  Heaven. Watched GBSB.  Very difficult waistcoat as first task then some brilliant relooking projects and then a 3d construction exercise.  Puffing, pouting black haired lady bunged off.  Men are very strong contenders this year.

A day of bits and pieces

Wednesday 11 February 2015

2 degrees rising to 12
sun at last feeling like it has some warmth

Retook mandate on a property which I had had some time ago.  Perched on a ridge and with a fabulous garden and a swimming pool which is in great condition, it is inhabited by a lady from Andalusia and her Portuguese husband.  We speak of Ronda and she tells me how much building has gone on there, that the last time she went with her sister, it was an hour before they managed to find the house in which she had lived the first 15 years of her life. She spent many years in France, as did I, and she said she found the French very 'closed' - meaning not open to relationships with others and also with the meaning of not entertaining new ideas.  I asked her why the Spanish are so different - why do they all live in apartments, even in the middle of the country where there are acres of land - why they all promenade in the evening - why no one goes to bed before the early hours of the morning? She didn't know but said that everyone knew everyone in a town and that could only be a good thing. We laughed and agreed that the Spanish were not at all, in any way, like the French.

Their house is not so lovely from the inside and has the most villainous artex, in a selection of patterns for the visitor to detest, over all of the interior walls.  Not sure I could live with it. It transpires that my clients for tomorrow have indeed seen the house and the artex was a big no-no.

Back home for quick lunch then had to take the utility vehicle for new tyres before the MOT tomorrow.  A long wait, horrible coffee from the machine, and an interesting article on how people in French kitchens are abused, treated like dogs, made to drink water that they have over salted, kicked up the bums and punched. Shame on you Joel Robuchon!

Finally liberated and went to take back a Livebox to the phone shop, then tried to get a certificate out of the social security office for an English couple who have gone back to England and are still officially in the system because they have not asked for this certificate. You have to write a letter - text the man, who we were great friends with and give him the words to write.   Have good coffee and doughnut in a local store and watch the locals drinking wine and beer and small children warming up on hot chocolate and cakes.  Back to our town and pick up some keys for the visit tomorrow.   Look at the car and realise the poor MOT man will not be able to see a thing so have to take it to the car wash and blast off the mud and crud.

Back home and OH is making a throw it all in the pot casserole.  Rabbit and red wine that was too horrible to drink with some chili.  Not his most successful dish.

Snow, snow, not glorious snow (if you live in Boston)

Tuesday 10 February 2015

Cold start but warming to 9 degrees later

You may be forgiven for thinking that I never do any visits with buyers, having read and digested my posts for this month.  Estate agency is feast or famine. Just you wait til May. You will have your fill.  May is always manic but often the rest of the year, clients are sporadic.  Hence why I will be winning the Lotto on Friday 13th, mysteriously seen as lucky out here, and never doing estate agency again. A neighbour once said to me, how lovely it must be to spend my time looking at houses and talking to people.  That bit is lovely, and often hilarious.  The wrangling over furniture, undisclosed information, difficulties of communication, legalities and sheer pig headedness is not.  Being self employed means that if I do not sell, I do not earn.  Every time I go out with a buyer, the WTF demon is sitting at the back of my brain and whispering 'you had better sell to this one, Mrs'.  I hide my desperation and despair under a cheery air and happy smile but I wonder if it seeps out and makes an invisible cloud around me.  Part of the journey this year is to dispel the unhappiness and longing for another life and to become at the very base level, accepting of what I have and content with it.

OH went out to dog walk and shop and I caught up with emails and did VAT return.  List of things seems to be getting longer rather than shorter.  After at least three blissfully peaceful hours, OH rang and said the car had broken down in a village where there was no mobile reception so he had had an extra long walk up a hill.  He was not in the best of moods. Went out and recovered him - a tyre had blown out.  Back home to have cup of tea and get tools and then an hour getting the old tyre off and the new one on.  That ate up the rest of the day.

Thursdays client rang up and said he wanted to cancel one of the appointments so got on my thinking hat and found a house which I had had on sale last year.  Rang up the owners and they were interested in putting their house back on market.  On Friday I will be seeing a guy who appears to be seeing every house between me and Paris.

Went out and tackled the passion vine which had taken the opportunity to develop a stem thicker than my wrist and run riot over the cow shed.   Unravelled it from the wisteria, which it must be suppressing, and left elbows of it sticking out where I couldn't reach at it.  Sawed off the stem.  Noted lots of little sprouts of it which had rooted in the lower bed.  Sun was warm and gentle.  Blue tits and great tits queuing up on the bird table to enjoy the balls of fat.

Client in the States sent me pictures of her dogs in the snow.  I think they are very small dogs but apparently the snow is very very deep.  She says her dogs are fed up of it and so is she.   Boston is running out of spaces for where to put it

The Great Snow Of 2015

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• David Epstein
• @GrowingWisdom
• Boston.com Correspondent
• FEBRUARY 10, 2015 8:40 AM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David Epstein has been a professional meteorologist and horticulturalist for three decades. David spent 16 years at WCVB in Boston and currently is a meteorology professor at Framingham State College and teaches a January Program at Colby College.

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Recently, I wrote about the Great Snow of 1717 a series of 4 storms in 10 days. When that event was over, Cotton Mather reported 3 feet of snow in Boston Common in what was an unprecedented snow event. Fast forward almost exactly 300 years and we have done it again and then some. What’s transpired meteorologically the past 18 days is simply amazing. Part of the reason it’s so incredible is because we don’t have anything officially in the record books to compare this to. We’ve had more snow than any other 14,20 or even 30 day period since the late 1800s and there is still more snow in the forecast.

It's not only the snow, but the cold too. Since the onslaught of snow began the lack of warm air has kept much of the snow from melting. Ironically, it's the prolonged cold which has allowed the snow to pile so high, but has also prevented a heavy wet snow which would have been devastating to the power grid.

There are so many ways to view all this snow. Meteorologcially it’s fascinating to see records being shattered. But the records only go back 130 years or so, a small amount of time when you widen the window of the past beyond what we’ve recorded. How do we know this type of event wasn’t occurring 500 years ago or some other time period? It’s historical to us, in our records, but where it fits in the big picture we really have no idea.

We try to form some meaning around it all, but in actuality it’s just a lot of snow. In 8 weeks, it will be gone, just a few large piles remaining in scattered parking lots or in the deep shade on the north side of your house.

This area many of us live and work is a leader in so many arenas. Millions of us go to daily jobs feeling the pressure of performing for our co-workers, our boss or self-imposed ideas on taking our career to a higher level. Now, the snow has just put a halt to much of it. Sure you can work from home, but the meeting you had yesterday or today is cancelled. While the day off might seem relaxing for some, stress levels may have actually increased due to the lack of being able to get stuff done. Students are missing school, teachers aren’t able to teach, a house that was being built down the road halted construction and the state’s largest mass transit system isn’t even working.

In 1987 when the stock market crashed it looked like a really big deal and in many ways it was. But nearly 28 years later that dip has been smoothed by time and is barely noticeable on a chart of the Dow Jones Industrial over the past 100 years. At some point in the future, maybe next week, maybe next year, all that is being missed during this Great Snow of 2015 will be barely a memory. You’ll likely remember the snowbanks, the shoveling, the days off from school, but most of the other stuff just fades with time.

This isn’t to diminish the real affects and pain the snow is causing. Medical emergencies and other public safety issues are real and hurt real people. The snow has highlighted what we all knew; the public transit system on which so many depend isn’t dependable. I can’t imagine the pressure being felt by those charged with maintaining or managing this system. The snow has reminded us of the vulnerability of so many who reply on on public transportation in getting from point A to B. If we add another major storm, the danger level in Boston and other urban areas will grow even more precarious.

20 days ago, when the ground was bare, traffic was a part of living here. Today, because of the snow, the use of a car in the areas hardest hit by all the snow takes on a whole new meaning. At least for the next few weeks, the added time to go somewhere must now be factored in to our lives. Trillions upon trillions of tiny crystals have forced a collective traffic jam normally reserved for Friday night commutes to Cape Cod in the summer or the occasional weekday snowstorm in winter.

The Great Snow of 2015 isn’t over. There is more snow coming Thursday and perhaps again on Sunday. I'll update here and on Twitter @growingwisdom on those two possibilities later today.

As the streets continue to narrow and our tolerance and patience for the transformed world we live grows short, think about the collective experience all of us are sharing. No one is immune from these storms; all of us have our own way of existing during this historical period of weather. You might not be fazed by the winter onslaught, perhaps you even enjoy it. Maybe you would do anything to be anywhere else, but no matter what your feelings about it, we’re all living it. Everyone has a story about the snow or what the snow is doing. Ice dams might force water to be coming down the walls of your living room, or the snow banks are so high you take your life into your hands every time you pull out of your driveway. Maybe you’ve shoveled paths or even tunnels for your dog or child so much your aching back is making it hard to walk correctly. Perhaps you’ve been feeling like you’re solely responsible for keeping the birds alive through all these storms. Or possibly, you’ve made more money than you could ever have hoped for in a single winter season plowing.

Whatever your personal take on this, everyone is connected, because most of us can't escape the weather. We often use the term "hardy" as a way for New Englanders to describe ourselves. We are agile and nimble, smart and innovative, we will keep on shoveling and pushing through, that is what we do. When summer arrives, we’ll still talk about it, brag about it, show pictures of it and recount how collectively, how we shoveled, pushed, climbed, and moved all that snow making it through the Great Snow of 2015.