Our Survey Says - Monday

A grey-haired pair of mature buyers sit at assistant manager T’s desk, as I hover by the filing cabinet and do the eavesdropping thing that so infuriates my staff. I can’t help myself it’s well established, like an unbreakable habit. And if I went to the new occupational therapist whose rumoured to be available at head office – never advertise your weaknesses, except anonymously – they’d probably be diagnosing obsessive compulsive disorder, or some other trendy new complaint that in days gone by would just be covered by a simple: ‘Oh he’s just a tosser.’

‘Goodness no, we’ve bought before,’ Brays the woman boastfully, in answer to T’s qualification questioning. ‘We’ve been sitting in rented watching the market.’
‘Sold at the top, money in the bank, then been biding out time.’ Confirms the equally irksome husband. Sometimes, like people and their pets, couples just go together like fleas and collars.

Now call me old fashioned, but I still kind of believe a house is first and foremost a home not an investment vehicle. A good post-work pub discussion could last long in to Friday night, causing missed suppers and potential matrimonials, on that front. It could be argued bankers and fat mortgage consultants – ok, estate agents too – encouraging people to treat their homes like hedge funds, just because some myopically-challenged chancellor scuppered the pensions industry, was a huge contributory factor to the well documented crash. Or has it been well documented?

‘We think the market may have bottomed you see,’ continues the woman clearly, as usually the case with property, the decision maker. ‘Only every week there’s a conflicting report.’
‘Some sort of industry conspiracy if you ask me.’ Contributes her husband. ‘What’s your view?’

Ah yes, the conspiracy theorists, don’t you just love them I think; as I realise I’ve strayed closer than I should have to T and his punters and am in danger of looking like a stalker. T solves that one in an instant by turning to me, mischief in his eyes not visible to the pair with him, and saying.
‘Well this is the office manger, if anyone knows he does.’

Obviously you are no longer allowed to hit staff members or I’d have decked trainee F months ago, and I stop short of muttering, ‘bastard,’ at T as all eyes are now on me for some sort of messianic property prediction. Needless to say I haven’t got a clue.

Surveys are notoriously conflicting and at odds with each other. Each week some headline grabbing leader pops up on our home page and declares property prices are on the up, and within days another comes out declaring the polar opposite. From past experience you can only call the top and bottom of the market a good three to six months after the event, something these chancers won’t be satisfied with because by then it will be deemed too late. I decide to waffle.

‘Yes but never mind all that sales nonsense,’ interjects the women harshly. ‘I need to know if now is a good time to buy, to not lose any money. So is it?’
If I had a pound…on second thoughts a thousand pounds…. for the number of times some tool confusing a home with a high interest no-risk bond asked that, I wouldn’t be here pandering to greedy sods who would rather speculate on bricks and mortar than get up and go to work every day.

‘Thanks for that.’ I tell T dryly when the couple have left looking for someone who’ll tell then what they want to hear, irrespective of its accuracy.
‘Well if you must stand on my shoulder listening to my conversation.’ Retorts T not unreasonably. My response, that it helps me to coach and encourage, falls on ears as deaf as the just departed amateur speculators.

‘I’ve got Mr Wilkie on line two,’ interjects negotiator S gently. ‘Wants to know if he should put his price back up after something he just heard on the radio. Says he thinks his flat is too cheap now. What should I tell him?’

The options are endless; sadly most of them ultimately involve the Job Centre. Against my better judgement, I tell Mr Wilkie whatever he wants to hear.