The utter barefaced cheek of it. A letter through the door from a local estate agent noting that we are selling our house and wondering politely if perhaps we would like some advice on how to do this. Without waiting for a response, they go on to to suggest that perhaps dirty dishes in the sink or piles of clutter can put potential buyers off.
How VERY dare they.
We have kept this place spotless. Spotless. We’ve hidden damp bathroom towels in the washing machine. Most of the BUBs’ toys have been consigned to the loft. I’ve had the clothes dryer on 24/7. I have never left the loo seat up. We’ve lit scented candles and the lamps have been switched on to create an ambient glow. Willy Wonka invested in a shimmering new £99 Zara Home throw for the bed for Christ’s sake. And every morning before work, rain or shine, he has set out the garden furniture in the manner of a Next catalogue.
The sheer brass neck of them! No I haven’t baked fresh bread, but I’ve thought about it. To suggest otherwise is tantamount to libel.
I don’t know why it hasn’t sold yet. Every person through the door has left aglow with the promise of spotting kingfishers over breakfast and declaring: “I love it!”. But then that’s what I said the very first house we saw when we were looking for this one: “Well, I love it!”
Willy Wonka gave me a right wonkering for expressing such delight in front of the agent to whom of course we would want to offer the lowest price possible. We should be criticising room size, questioning build quality, pointing at mildew and rubbing our chins at the size of the garden. Not stepping out the door, rubbing our hands exclaiming, “Well, I love it!”
Truth is, I love pretty much every house I walk into and mentally move in before the viewing is over. Admittedly, last time round I was suffering from chronic morning sickness and just wanted to whole sorry business over with, so any house with a roof looked good. Willy Wonka would have to bring me down to earth with a bump by pointing out that it might have a roof but it backed onto a graveyard. Or lacked any of our requirements. “But I love the feel, and that mirror, and the scuffed floorboards,” I would say.
Being present at some of our recent viewings has shown me that I’m not alone. People have gushed over our view of the nature reserve, oohed and aahed over the sunlit kitchen and complimented us on the bookshelves in the living room. “I love it!” they’ve pretty much all said.
But no one has made an offer yet. They’ve obviously returned home and had a wonkering from their other half. “Yes, the parakeets were glorious dear but did you notice there is no window in the bathroom?”
“Steady on now.”