Poodles on parade

Wednesday 8 April 2015

Sunny 22 degrees

10 am finds me lurking in a car park and waiting for a client from the coast.  He arrives on time and backs his virulently yellow soft top car into the parking space.  A small apricot poodle peers out of the sun roof.  I am very surprised because the house the client has asked to see does not fit at all with his appearance.  The client and the dog appear from the car and I suggest we all go in together and the man says he will drive.  The dog is put out because I have her seat so she sits on the man's knees and we head for the first property. It is a large farmhouse with extensive lands and is fully modernised.  The owners and their massive black hunting dogs are enjoying the sun, some cigarettes and in the case of the dogs, chasing some large pieces of shredded cardboard around the terrace.  It is interesting how people, dogs and houses go together.  In my experience, people with flashy handbags, small dogs or sparkly shoes would never do renovations, people with large dogs are up for a challenge and people with young kids just want to be found a quick solution.

The client sucks his teeth and the dog pants and he tells me that this is not at all the house he had chosen.  We have to go and see it in any event because the owners are there and waiting but the visit is over in a very short period of time.  It transpires that he had wanted to see a small manor house with pool and virtually no garden and had mixed up the reference numbers.   I am now, stuck in his car, so he says he will drive on and he drives very, very slowly and I am running out of conversation when we arrive at the second house.  The owners are away and there is just a workman, sanding down the gates.  Because it is mid morning, the passage of lorries is fairly heavy but this doesn't seem to put him off at all.  He says he will get Madame to come and look at it and we wend our way back, slowly except in the case of the road bumps, which he takes at some speed and the dog shoots into the air and goes to sulk on the back bucket seat.

He leaves me back at my car and I feel the need for coffee.  OH is out doing shopping. Workmen are starting to file in for lunch and the sun is cracking the flags.  Ah, bliss....

Back home and then out to do an estimation of value at a nearby farm.  The owner looks confused when I get there and says he thought it was tomorrow.  Go back home.  I am not having a good day here.   Internet is back on when I get home so I ring people up, including the notary to ask her about my would be buyers for the house in town.  One advocate has said the damages may be 4k and another said they might be 20k.  The notary says only the judge can establish the amount of the prejudice and she has no idea where the advocates are pulling these figures from.  She also says that my would be buyers cant have a condition put into the contract, limiting their exposure to damages payable to a third party, outside of the parties mentioned in the contract.

The combination of cortisone and anti biotics is making the inside of my mouth flake and puff and I have the most revolting taste in my mouth.  Somewhat alleviated by wine and chocolate.

Election fever grips the capital

Mayor of London Boris Johnson

Monday 30 March 2015

13 degrees
Light drizzle followed by heavy drizzle

This made me laugh - although unlikely to have been by the Mayor himself, the wildly shaggy haired Boris Johnson, sadly lacking from Have I Got News for You since he decided to get serious.



So parliament has been dissolved, the General Election set for May 7th and everyone is looking very happy about it

David Cameron, Nick Clegg and Ed Milliband

Ed seems to feel that his genitalia are under threat.  If you are looking for serious political analysis, by the way, you really are in the wrong place.  My analysis of the election will largely extend to amusing pictures and cock ups.

Lots of enquiries and everyone seems to want to come when we are on holiday.  OH takes the idea of moving the holiday very badly and starts waving hands in the air like angry sea anemone.  Say OK we will stick with it.  I cant be bothered with holidays.  I would rather stay here and do some gardening and writing and fiddle around with my crafting stuff but no, we have to spend hours in the car going somewhere hot, stay in a hotel which is stuffy and where I have to listen to him snoring all night, and drink and eat too much.  I usually feel exhausted when I get back, although it is good for clearing up the stress related eczema which is now all over my elbows and neck and driving me bonkers.

My Russians say they will be back to sign the reservation contract on the 14 April and the sellers have found a house in Murcia and, fortunately, they are speaking on Skype when I ring up so I manage to speak to them on broadcast.

Spend the morning trying to find property for the buyer who wanted to buy the house that the Russians have now agreed on, and they reject everything.  The problem is that when people fix on a house, they want to find something else which is identical, and it can take years before they let go.  This happened twice in 2013 and both sets of buyers are still looking.  As Del Boy (Fools and Horses) would say 'fortune favours the brave'.  If you love something, you just have to dive in and then figure out the rest later.  If you are not brave enough to dive in, then perhaps the time and the action are just not right for you.

Go swimming later on in the day and the pool is almost empty, apart from a really annoying woman who swims so fast on her lengths that I am absolutely breathless in trying to keep up with her.  Do my 30 lengths in record time.  She is still shooting up and down the pool like an automaton whilst I take a breather, sit in the bubbles and look at my stomach bouncing about.  I have been eating bread again and look six months pregnant with the two kilos gained right on my front.

A french client contacts me about a house which has just come back onto the market, after having been reserved for a period of six months, at the expiration of which it transpired the buyer couldnt get the loan.  She says she knows the house and loves it but could only afford to pay 90% of the asking price.   It is an expensive house and this represents rather a lot of money.  I ask her if she wants to come and see it again, and she says she will talk to her husband.  This property, a stunning water mill, I used to have on exclusive contract. I found a buyer almost immediately, at a sum thirty percent in excess of what is now being asked.  The seller dilly dallied at paying for the necessary reports and insisted on having their own notaire, with the result that the buyers who had waited a month to sign, had to return to the States.  By the time they got off the boat, they had changed their minds and now we are two years down the road and it is still not sold. A voir, as they say over here.

Watched the end of The Tempest and was surprised to find that I enjoyed it.  OH was in deep sleep.

Tired and frustrated

Saturday 28 March 2015

The sun is back!  Still not very warm though

Spent the morning writing up visits, giving feedback, replying to a sudden rash of new enquiries and then walked the dog.  Light drizzle ensued.  Took a very large walking stick with me and, before going over the door, showed it to the dog and informed him that he would be suffering the blunt end on his bottom if he ran off again today.  The dog understood and was exceptionally well behaved.

The Spring flowers are glorious.  There are deep and velvety violets, shiny celandines, grass green hellebores and a new flush of euphorbias, both low growing and tall.  Tiny bells of pink and white cardamine pratensis float above the new low stars of biennial teasel.  The latest and most exciting arrivals are the scillas.  As blue as the bluebell, they are tiny stars of flowers, rising proud above their thick and fleshy leaves.

Back home and have quick bite to eat with OH and then gather together mandats, bons de visite, camera, measuring machine etc. and go down town to meet the clients with whom I have spent most of the back end of last week.  They are late.  Again.  And again they don't apologise.  That is very irritating and rude.

We go to see the house I found yesterday and it has been renovated beautifully.  I used to have this house for sale four years ago.  It was inhabited by an English guy with a drink problem and two large dogs, who did their business in the courtyard.  Nice.  Now it is warm and welcoming, with dove grey walls, buffed and loved original oak flooring, lovely new ceiling lights rather than the more authentic strip lighting which buzzed distractingly and was home to many dead flies.  The lounge was now on the first floor and the double windows overlook the square.  The courtyard had been decked out and planted.  It was absolutely lovely.  It was also a house in the centre of town, with outside space, within their budget.  I could tell, as we walked around, that they were not going to go for it.

We went for a coffee and they sucked their teeth.  They are still fixed on the house in the back of beyond that needs a lot of work doing.  There is a river going through the garden. The guy says he could go paddle boarding on that.  I point out that the house is cheap because it is in the back of beyond, that they will spend all their time renovating which costs an average of 1200 euros/m2.  The woman says, if they didn't have a renovation to do, how would they keep themselves occupied other than smoking or drinking.  I suggest that they could discover the region, learn new activities, have the time to do all the things they have never had time to do.  I also point out that whatever they spend on the house will not necessarily be recoverable, that who is going to want to rent the house out there other than in summer - the one here in town earns 800 euros every three weeks and is booked up until late autumn. They say that they can do a lot of work themselves.  I point out that they will be spending an hour just getting up to the auto route, never mind to the sea, which the guy claims to love. They say that the agent told them he could get to the coast in 40 minutes.  I google it and it is 93 kms on small roads.  Still, says the guy, we really love that house. They then start discussing renovation between themselves, as if I am not there.

I get very fed up of them at this point.  I have shown them exactly what they said they wanted; in exactly where they said they wanted; and for the price they wanted.  I finish up quickly and go home and am very tired and very frustrated.  

OH doesn't say I told you so, which is just as well, or he would have been feeling the blunt end of the walking stick too.  Instead he makes steak and chips and then puts on a recorded production of the Tempest with Helen Mirren and, surprisingly, Russell Brand.  I find there is nothing like culture to put me into a deep sleep.  Wake up briefly to find OH has passed out too.  Insist that we go to bed immediately.

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.  

Tea, fig rolls and it is snowing again in Boston....

Friday 21 March 2015

First day of Spring
Rain is back again

I get a message on Skype which is the modern day equivalent of a long distance wail.  'it is snowing again!'.  Poor LL, when she signed the initial contract to buy her house here, back in October, June must have seemed a long way off.  She is on a tiny outcrop of the States, on the Eastern seaboard, and has suffered snow for months.  And not inconsiderable amounts of the white stuff either.  She knows, as well as I do, that if she doesn't turn up to sign the Title contract at the end of June, she is liable to pay 10% percent penalties to the seller, who has actually changed his mind and doesn't really want to sell, but is tied in.  He would be thrilled to get 10% penalties and to not sell the house.  She is under the cosh.  On the positive side, the euro has really dropped against the US dollar, so she can afford to drop her price somewhat to generate a quick sale.  Providing the buyers can get over their doorsteps, and hers.

First thing today is to go and revisit the house I went to see last week, and get the sales contract.  I arrive and the septic tank lady is tramping around the garden and the owners, who don't speak her language, are hiding in the house.  I introduce them to one another and interpret.  I am then invited in and the lady of the house goes to make tea.  A good thing about UK clients is that you get tea at the start, which lubricates the bronchials and is agreeable.  You also often get biscuits (fig rolls in this instance, yum!).  The French and Spanish wait until business is finished before offering you refreshments (unless you are puce in the face with heat and look as if you are about to expire onto their freshly cleaned parquet) and then if you accept, you are there an hour longer.  They then take the opportunity to talk about many things of which the worst to extricate oneself from, is politics and when the UK will join the Euro.  Not in a month of Sundays because we don't want to be in the same crap that you are, is the actual answer.  I have to dress it up a little.  They are also often under the impression that the Queen owns all property in the UK.  OH used to tell people this was true.

We also discuss Jeremy Clarkson, of Top Gear, who has been suspended by the BBC following a fracas with his producer.  A million people have now signed the petition, asking for him to be reinstated.  People either love him or hate him.  The man of the house and myself are definite fans.  I particularly love the fact he is not at all PC.  PC is an infringement of civil liberty, imo.  I will be writing a blog about that.  When I have done a million other things on the list first.  I will also be writing one called In Praise of Monotasking but I don't know when because I am still stuck in the black hell of Multitasking.

I get out the sale contract and everything suddenly grinds to a halt.  Their daughters are not happy with them selling the house so feathers need to be smoothed and they will sign the contract later.  Why didn't they tell me that before letting me drive 25 kms to see them?

Back home and spend two hours going through all emails and getting my diary up to date. I have more people coming over in the next month than I have in ages.

The complicated situation with the house in town continues and both buyer and seller keep ringing me up but I don't know why because there is nothing that will happen until the seller sees her advocate next Friday.

My lovely labradorite has been working overtime so, when I get to bed, I recharge it by placing it between my hands and running reiki through it.  I wake up in the middle of the night suddenly and am conscious of an image of the stone in my mind's eye, and all of the facets are sparkling.  A strange experience.

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.

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.

A delightful encounter, and the sun is shining!

Wednesday 11 March 2015

Misty with warm sun later 15 degrees

Spent morning uploading property from earlier in the week.  There are fifteen pages of information for each property, plus writing the advert in French and English.  I also have to trim and improve the photos, cutting out distracting elements and lightening and brightening to give the best impression possible of the house.  I then crop and reduce pixel size.  Each property takes a good hour/hour and a half to load.  The phone is silent for once and I glimpse an array of blue tits and great tits devouring the fat balls on the bird table.  They are currently getting through two a day and are so fat, it is surprising they can take off from the platform.

WF rings to say that he has finally got his new computer up and running and is applying for his CII (insurance institute) membership and will start doing basic exams.  He also says his contract is not going to be extended beyond the three months, and that they are now having very few calls since the television campaign ended.  Yesterday, he spent ten minutes on the phones and the remainder of the eight hours playing board games with an African lady. Games supplied by the employers who are funded by government grant.  This has been a very useful first experience of work for WF who is now getting his CV in order and out to the Employment Agencies whom we found to be the best conduit for finding work.

Late afternoon, when the sun is low in the sky, and the fields are glowing orange, I head north and wait for my clients in a small village.  All of the shutters are closed and the only activity is in the municipal offices.  Birds cheep, a light breeze plays with the dead leaves gathered in the crook of the road, a plane passes overhead.  My phone rings.  It is the seller of the house in my town and she says my would be buyers needn't bother ringing her directly anymore because she has found another buyer and will be signing in the agents office this afternoon.  I think 'Bollocks, that is xxxxx euros up the Swanee'.  I ring the relevant agent and he gives me the name of the buyers and when I tell him the story of my would be buyers, he says Oh la la!

At that point, the clients arrive so we get out of our cars and say hello and then back in and they follow me to the property.  The lady, who is easily in her late 60's, is a slight sprite of a woman, tiny in proportion with wild curling waist length hair, Sybil Trelawny glasses and delicate hands tortured by arthritic joints.  She is wearing an ankle length skirt, overlaid with a camouflage jacket and many bangles.  The ensemble is topped off with a trilby which has been enjoyed by many ravenous moths.  She jumps down from the battered green van and skips over to me.  'My husband is very quiet!' she exclaims, breathily, 'but that is alright because I do the talking'.  She paused very rarely for breath, giving me chance to point things out, during the next two and a half hours.  She was an absolute delight and absolutely adored the property if it were not for the road noise.  The road is quite some distance away, down a track which has terrified previous visitees.  She exclaims that there is not a lot of work to do in the house.  I am thinking I need more French clients like her because the majority of them can find fault in a perfect house, never mind one that needs replastering, rewiring, new kitchen, new bathroom, new windows, new septic tank and decoration throughout.  I don't know what her husband thought of the house because he didn't get a chance to speak.  They left finally, saying they would have to think about it but they weren't in a rush, and I felt rather shell shocked.

Back home and we enjoy the rabbit and chorizo casserole which had been simmering in the oven for the past three and a half hours.  Yum.  Accompanied by a crisp white rioja.  OH is fed up of working in the rental unit.  He says if he was writing a blog, he could copy and paste each day with the same activity.  This is most uncharacteristic.  I suggest he comes with me tomorrow and he agrees.

More perishing footie on the telly.

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.

Mothers and Mothers in Law

Sunday 8 March 2015

Sunny with light breeze
6 degrees to rising to 15

International Women's Day

Woke up excited at the prospect of a visit on our big rental unit.  OH still muttering and cocooned in his sheet wrap so I went down town alone and ran around, opening windows and then closing them because I could hear the gypsies down the street, shouting and banging about.  I put on lights in the darker rooms and turned on the radiators in chilly corners.  At 10 am I was on guard at the front door.  Mr L was on time - petite and Vietnamese - he bounced up the 42 stairs with great ease.  We did the tour and he was smiling - always a good sign - and was taken with the large rooms and how light they all are. He took lots of photos and said he might come back with a member of his family.  Back home to pick up the dog and take a birthday present to a friend.

The friend in question is an ex-client and she and her husband bought a lovely little house, typical of this area with its orange tiled roof rising to a sharp peak and rectangular stone construction with shuttered windows.  They have recently added a large kitchen extension with cupboards from Wickes and a large granite central island.  I have spent most of my life with Ikea kitchens.  Whilst I love Ikea, I decided I loved Wickes more and stroked the gleaming marble, admired all the space for prep, and opened and closed the beautiful clerical grey cupboards.  The dog took the opportunity to run off and then, when tied up, to trample the monbretia and crap on the camellia.  My friend's dog, a Jack Russell, wouldn't let him over the doorstep so we all sat outside, caught up with the news, and drank a lot of lovely milky coffee.  

Back home to find that OH had dismantled the chainsaw and it still didn't work.  He went outside in the shed and I enjoyed ten minutes of peace and my lunch before he came back in and said he had a solution.  The solution was to take the circular saw, drilled to its bench, 250 metres up to the place where the cut branches were stored, and then cut them up there. I am 5'2" and just under nine stone.  The bench probably weighed more than I do and the land was gently sloping.  I needed oxygen by the time we got there.  The dog took the opportunity to run off so I tied him to a tree where he barked a lot.  

The wood had come from the London Planes which had cast many leaves over the new parking area and had therefore suffered severe trimming.  There is nothing like cutting wood to take away the romance of a wood burning stove.  Was amazed, after three hours of cutting, that our hands werent grazing the floor.  Wood is dreadfully heavy.

Went to the kitchen and cooked before sitting down and passing out.  Chicken pie with roast potatoes and apple sponge.  At 9.30 the phone rang and it was the seller of the house in town who is honest enough to have told me that the buyer I presented had tried to buy directly.  She says she cannot afford to lose the sale and is there any way that we can arrive at an agreement over fees.  My heart goes out to her - I so wish I could find someone better to buy her house - promise to speak to the head of the agency tomorrow.

Rooting through a drawer, I find some old pictures of my mother and also of my mother in law.  I did write about them a while ago, and here it is

My mother and my mother in law were both born in 1921 and were female.  They had similar working class backgrounds and lived through the Second World War.  Their resemblance one to another stops at that point.  My mother was born in Birkenhead, Lancashire  and lived with her three sisters and one brother in a terraced house.  She was the baby of the family and when she was born, Frank, the eldest, was already 15.  Her father was a butcher and her mother was a cook.  When the War started, she was evacuated into the countryside: she missed her family and the city and was only away a month.  She came back home and was then sent to Bletchley to do 'something with wiring'.  She was away a month there too and came back to find a job in the NAAFI which was much more her style.  Mum loved being the centre of attention and enjoyed her War to a large extent.  Dances, dying legs with coffee dregs and drawing a line on the calves to simulate real stockings, peroxide, exciting US soldiers (two of her sisters became GI brides), makeup and clothes.

      In 1942, having been bombed out of three houses, the family decided to leave the city and went to the tiny village of Weston Rhyn in Shropshire.  After the initial shock of no electricity (gas provided both heat and light until into the 1950‘s), no shops and so much grass, they settled in.  The War did not physically touch Weston Rhyn - on the one occasion when a German plane passed overhead, apparently my Grandmother ran out of the house, clutching her ration book, only to find herself alone in the street; the locals still warm and quiet in their beds. 

      I have a photo of my mother taken in the early 40's, standing on a rock at Llandudno, wearing a ruched one piece swim suit and with a figure that I have never, in any decade of my life, achieved.  She was always glamorous.  She was always well turned out.  Just about the only piece of advice that she gave me was 'get yourself ready first'.

      My mother in law was born in Preston, Lancashire and had two brothers and a sister.  Naturally blonde, she was once teased that she ‘touched up’ the colour with peroxide and was embarrassed.  She was conservative and never discussed the past with me, apart from mentioning that she and her sister Betty used to be on ‘fire watch’ which in the early stages of the War involved going onto roofs of tall buildings and spending the night looking out.  The most interesting story of all which is one which my hubby told me.  Apparently Lilian was in Ribbleton, it was in the early 60’s and she was hanging out washing on the line.  She looked up.  There was a space ship - a classic spinning saucer, hanging over the garden.  It span for a minute and then flashed up high and disappeared.   I have no hesitation in believing my mother in law - she was completely unfanciful and would not have welcomed the attention that this story would have brought.

      Apart from a spell in Birmingham, my mother in law spent the rest of her life in the north west - the latter twenty odd years near Preston, which is where my husband was born.  Her life was her family and her Christian faith and she was content with it.  My mother always hankered for a more exciting life.  We were in the garden once and a passenger plane passed overhead ‘take me with you’ shouted mum at the tail stream, and then laughed.  I was 13 at the time and it disturbed me.  We did not have a quiet life - mum and dad’s favourite occupation was moving house.  We must have moved on average about every couple of years.  Of most of the houses I only remember one or two rooms or a patch of the garden.  I have had to write them down in case I forget.   My brother and I had numerous primary and several secondary schools.  They were mostly dreadful and we emerged with poor exam results.  My mother in law was horrified to hear of our fractured education.  ‘You can move house all you like, but you’ll still be the same person’ she concluded.  A conclusion that my mother didn’t arrive at even after dozens of removals.

        It was my mother in law who came to stay when we had our babies and who cooked and cleaned for us.  She came on holidays and babysat.  She loved her grandchildren completely.  I remember her holding WF in her arms when she came to see me in the maternity unit and saying with wonder ‘its as if I have known him all my life’.  Her views on the relation between husband and wife were very different to my own and the cause of much grinding of teeth (probably on her part too) but I miss her enormously, so this is my tribute.  We all loved you and now your lovely malt loaf will be out there in the wider world xx

My Mother in Law’s Malt Loaf

3/4 pound of self raising flour

cup of fruit

cup of sugar

1 tablespoon treacle

1 tablespoon syrup

1 egg

1 cup of milk

Mix altogether well & put in a greased loaf tin, medium oven 1 hour.

The cup I use is a large tea cup - I fill it with mixed fruit and add some nuts.  I use three quarters of a cup of sugar.

Take a large pan and put in the fruit, sugar, treacle and syrup.  Warm gently until the treacle and syrup start to run.  Add the cup of milk and stir.  Sift in the flour, mixing well.  Finally add the beaten egg.  The mix is quite stiff.  Grease the rectangular loaf tin and I usually line with baking parchment so it comes out easily.  Fill with the mix, leaving at least three centimetres between the top of the mix and the top of the tin.  It does rise considerably so place in a baking tray to avoid oven floor spills.  The top will crack as it cooks.  Test for doneness with a skewer after an hour.  It is better to cook for longer at a lower temperature than for shorter at a higher one as the elevated sugar content will cause the top to burn.  About 170 degrees C in my fan oven is usually fine.

How much sharper than a serpent's tooth (is the drill of the dentist)

Thursday 5 March 2015

Sunshine!!  5 degrees rising to 12 degrees

Thursday is one of my favourite days of the week.  I get to go down the market, root around in the charity shop, and drink coffee and catch up with friends.  Today, oh joy, the sun has made its reappearance and bright puffy clouds are scudding along at great speed.  The lawn is sparkling and dewy.  Whatever it is that is in the loft that given me a night's respite from its rootings and chewings, and I feel ready to get up and welcome the day.

OH declares his intention to come down and work in the rental unit whilst I 'gallivant' around the market.  I put on my new crystal and think 'synchronicity', I am ready for what you are about to send my way.  We park up on the outskirts of the town and are cutting through the narrow cobbled streets towards the centre, when an English couple stops us and asks for directions to the market.  OH immediately engages them in conversation (think he misses being in sales) and they say they will be looking to buy in the area - OH immediately tells them that I am an estate agent (without letting me get a word in sideways).  Ah, says the man, that is synchronicity....   OH goes off to paint and I take them for a coffee and they are charming and coming back with their family in the Summer to check out the area.  We swap details and they leave smiling.  How good is that!  I rub my crystal and say, well done you.

The bar in which we had been drinking the coffee has recently undergone a substantial renovation.  It has lost its squashy sofas and the days newspaper.  The bar stools, which accommodated bottoms of all sizes, have also been culled.  The lighting is subtle - which means for old gits like me - you cant see what you are drinking after twilight falls.  The older clientele are perching unhappily on the new stools or are parked at the spindly tables.  In the toilet, there is more subtle lighting, including fish shapes, circling around the walls.  If I didn't love the people behind the bar, I would not be going in their any more.  The new owner is looking to attract younger clientele and will be opening up a music venue in the back room. The people who live down town will really love that and the timid policeman will not be sleeping easy in his bed.  He is the one who went around to see the woman with the dogs who were aggressive with me.  He told her that I had complained and when she started to argue with him - he just passed the phone over to me

http://leavingmynormal.blogspot.fr/2015/01/somewhat-shaken-with-good-news-later.html

I leave when I see the owner approaching and I know he is going to ask if I like the change and I know I will have to say no.

Here are some photos of today's market:

1950s booklets

Hats ahoy

Anyone for pork?

Telling a story

Supine jeans and very scary leggings

Mountain chic

Installation or for sale?  Figurines demand table status

OH rings me up and is very excited.  A Chinese guy who he recognises from the gym, is visiting one of the other flats in the building.  I am to go immediately and find him and show him our flats.  I go to the Chinese restaurant and explain slowly and carefully to the Chinese girl on reception that I am looking for the man who is Chinese who goes to the gym and does he work here?  She smiles and nods throughout and then says, Do you want to eat?  I say do you understand me and she smiles and says No.  I run around to the gym and rifle through the membership cards to see if I can find a Chinese name.  No joy.  I hover in the queue and wait for the receptionist to get around to me.  Behind his head is a large screen, advertising the various membership options and services available.  Who should pop onto the screen, carefully massaging green slime into a smiling and happy client's back, but the Chinese guy.  Aha moment!!  He is not there but will be there later on in afternoon.

Unhappily, I have a date with my dentist.  He is from Corsica and he is absolutely gorgeous with black hair, malteser brown eyes and great teeth.  He is also very solicitous and keeps asking me if I am OK.  I tell him he will know if I am not OK because I jump.  Ah yes, he says.  He immobilises me and pumps in great, jump inhibiting, quantities of anaesthetic and takes out my fragile crown.  The receptionist comes in and there has been a mix up between two clients and they and the nurse try and sort it out on the screen there and then. You are getting a little break, Signora B, says the dentist happily.  My breathing at this point has almost gone back to a normal rhythm.  I hate the smell of burning tooth, the sickliness of blood on my tongue and especially the various drill noises - the high mosquito whine, the droning of the medium needle but what I particularly hate is the deep grinding of the heavy duty jobbie.  I make the mistake of opening my eyes and see that he has a needle the size of a mutant wasps sting and is about to insert it into my tender gum.  I ask him if he has nearly finished and he has.  His nurse is a trainee and keeps running into tables and my feet.  Finally, after an hour, it is over and I have a temporary crown which is slightly too long but I will have to put up with for ten days.  I go and slurp a coffee and get pitying looks from people on surrounding tables.  

I go back to the gym and the Chinese guy isnt there and so I leave a message and go home and feel exhausted and discover people have been falling out on the group and someone has left.  PM people and tell the offenders they are on point.

Great British Sewing Bee semi final night and it is leather and lace, with a wetsuit to alter.  I loved Neil's contribution of a well fitting halter neck rubber top and lovely lace skirt.  The winning article from Debbie was a bit of a monstrosity.  I do love Claudia Winkleman - she gives wonderful innenuendos such as 'they want it stiff and big' and 'this is my first time boning'

To bed early. 

A day of surprises and some knots untie themselves!

Tuesday 3 March 2015

Grey and cloudy with light rain
12 degrees

A day of surprises.  First thing when I get up, I turn on my phone.  Yes I know it is a bad habit and I am welded to it.  I find a message from a client who has finally got to the end of a thorny problem and has done it without the help of the notaries.  She is buying a 1950s property which has some archaeological vestiges on the site.  The land registry plan is not clear as to who has ownership and the notaries, who are officially in charge of establishing what is what as far as the Title is concerned, develop 'sloping shoulders' and suddenly become unavailable to speak to on the telephone.  I dig out the name of the former owner and pass it to the client and hurrah, it transpires that the vestiges are not with the property so the buyer is immensely relieved and is now just anxiously awaiting her visa and shovelling snow.  New England, it appears, has much more savage weather, than Old England.  

The second surprise came later in the day.  I get a call from a seller - the one who has gone a bit bonkers and dropped her house to such a low price that I told her to raise it again - rings to say that she has two offers but there is a problem.  I say your price is far too low and you are giving the house away.  She says, I know, but we just want to sell.  It transpires that one of the offers has come from my people who made the offer in January

http://leavingmynormal.blogspot.fr/2015/01/yes-ah-no.html

and who have come back in with a direct offer.  She says that they have made an offer at the new price she was asking on the private ad but she told them that they were introduced to her by me and if they want to buy, they must go through me to effect the purchase.  They suggested to her that, as I "hadn't done much work", they would pay me half fees(!)  She also said that she had another offer and she was waiting to see if they would raise it to be higher than my former clients and she would ring me back.  I thanked her for her honesty and hung up.  The sneaky bastards!!!  I will wait to see which offer the seller accepts.  I am inclined to agree with her that, if my people do buy, they will never be happy in the house because they are dishonest people.

I am also a great believer in synchronicity, and what goes around, comes around.  Feel the need for a new crystal and, on the advice of a reiki friend, go and look for some laboradite. This is such a beautiful feldspar crystal with stunning reflects of shimmering blues and golds.  My friend says there is nothing like it for synchronicity.  She also says that the crystal finds the person, like the wand finds the wizard...

google images

The lady in the shop says they are also strong against negativity (I am still thinking sneaky bastards at the back of my mind) and need to be cleaned once a week by leaving them in water overnight and then on a windowsill to absorb sun or moon rays.  They says as they absorb negativity, they become less brilliant.  Will be an interesting gauge.

Go for a swim, which is less than blissful as it is full of people larking about and bashing each other with swimming aids.