Cash Is My King - Friday

‘So this is your third viewing of the house.’ I say to the late-middle-aged couple I’m with, as we re-convene in the lounge after a lengthy inspection involving opening cupboards unnecessarily and an awkward moment in the vendor’s underwear drawer.

Of course I know it’s their third visit. I don’t spend precious time with people without qualifying them first. There are only so many hours in the day and literally millions of time-wasters out there. I blame Channel Four and its incessant property porn programming.

‘Yes.’ Acknowledges the husband grudgingly. ‘But we won’t be bounced into any quick decisions by anyone.’ Of course you won’t.

‘He’s always been cautious.’ Says the wife, with an apologetic grin.

Now I’m thinking how dull their sex life must be, rather than how soon I can get back to the office if they are not going to make a bid. Once you get past a third viewing and still don’t make an offer, the chances of a deal recede faster than Jude Law’s hairline.

This house will sell, that I know. The owners have listened to my advice on price, as they’re committed and not greedy. Other agents had tempted them with unrealistic valuations and an on-line outfit wanted the best part of £1,000 up-front with no motivation to do anything else, but the owners were experienced and sensible. If this pair don’t make a decision soon, I’ll find someone who will. But they are in a good position….

‘I understand you are cash buyers.’ I say as the couple prevaricate. It’s always best to double-check and our office idiot, trainee F, conducted the first two viewings.   

‘Yes.’ Says the husband smugly, adding. ‘You lot love that don’t you.’

Well, it’s better the offering pork bellies, or some smoke and mirrors digital virtual currency like Bitcoin, that I’m convinced will turn out to be some enormous Ponzi scheme when it finally unravels. Caveat Emptor.

‘Well if the money is in the bank and you are ready to sign a contract, unhindered by another sale, it puts you in a strong position.’ I say, by way of clarity. Although, some of the corporate estate agency chains would rather buyers used their mortgage services and pet conveyancing operations, as the secret profit kickbacks add value to every transaction.

‘Well it will be.’ Says the wife.

It’s not an audible alarm, but it might as well be. My heart sinks. Surely F has qualified this pair properly? We’ve spent hours with them already, plus  I picked them up from the station as they are obviously too stingy to cough for a taxi.

‘So, the money is not ready.’ I probe, as the husband scowls at his wife.

‘Once the sale goes through it will be.’ Says the husband curtly.

‘You’re selling another home?’ I ask, thinking if it’s not even under offer, I’ll probably enter orbit shortly.

‘It’s not a house.’

 Says the man, dismissively.

What then? Good god, is it a racehorse? A classic car, some pre-renaissance painting?

‘We’re selling a business.’ Enlightens the man. I’d have preferred them to be flogging Shergar - once they find him.

‘So not a cash purchase.’ I advance wearily.

‘It will be, once the deal goes through.’ Counters the man, peevishly.

Commercial business sales are infamously long-winded, as buyers and sellers argue over premises, stock and that notoriously hard to value, goodwill element. A buyer in a matrimonial sale would be, statistically, more likely to perform than this pair. I can find a better buyer for my client. I just can.

‘What time is your train?’ I ask flatly, as we head back towards the station.

‘Oh not for another couple of hours.’ Says the wife. ‘We were wondering if you could drop us off at one of your competitors, we’ve a viewing booked with them in fifteen minutes.’

‘Where’s F?’ I demand angrily when I get back to the office. I’m pretty sure the couple’s train will be diesel, or electric, but if not I’ve raised enough steam to power the Flying f***ing Scotsman.

‘Out to lunch.’ Says negotiator S, warily.

Permanently.

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It's Behind You - Thursday

‘You’ve got a ghost house to look at.’ Says trainee F triumphantly, as I walk through the door.

‘Is it going to disappear as soon as I turn up?’ I ask him sarcastically.

F looks hurt, but sticks and stones will break his bones and words won’t - or he’d be in intensive care by now.

I don’t need to visit and market another home with a supposedly interesting angle that I can’t quantify to a belligerent Trading Standards officer, or some prissy pen-pusher still living at home with their parents, who works in a bubble at the Advertising Standards’ Agency.

‘You know ghosts don’t exist, don’t you?’ I ask F flatly.

‘You don’t know that.’ Interjects negotiator S. Good god, I hoped she’d be a bit more level-headed - maybe those enormous breasts are canting her forward again.

‘Well the lady who lives there says she’s seen the ghost lots of times.’ Persists F.

‘After the second bottle of wine, by any chance?’ Asks obese mortgage man M. He may be a peddler of pointless policies, but he does live in the real world. McDonald’s mostly…

‘And she wants to sell, does she?’ I press, starting to lose the will to live.

‘Yes,’ confirms F. ‘I’ve booked you a valuation this afternoon.’

‘Nobody is going to want to buy a haunted house.’ Says loose lettings lush B from her desk.

Thank you, I think fleetingly, until she adds. ‘She should rent it instead.’

‘I think it would be cool.’ Says S enthusiastically. ‘We could get loads of publicity in the local press with an angle like that.’

‘And you’d be inundated by every nut-job in the area.’ Says M, shaking his fat face. ‘Loonies and losers with a credit score lower than Greece.’

‘And they are the type that look but never buy.’ I add. ‘Any normal person isn’t going to be enthusiastic about buying a house with a resident poltergeist. Most people prefer the furniture moving to stop once the removal men have left.’

Now I love a home to market with an unusual story. Not least because you can indeed get the press, and social media, to lap up tales that might allow a sensational headline with a stock photo from Getty attached. They say any publicity is good publicity, especially if it’s free, but ghoulish stories and things that go bump in the night don’t exactly enhance your hopes of a quick sale, or a good price.

‘What was she like?’ I ask F wearily. Let me guess. Eccentric.

‘A little bit flaky.’ Confirms F.

‘Single?’

‘How did you know?’

‘With cats?’ I venture.

‘Three.’ Confirms F, looking at me as though I’m the supernatural one.

‘Flowery skirt, with greying hair too long for her age and a fleece covered in animal fur?’ I ask.

‘You know her don’t you?’ Demands F.

No. But I know the type.

Time was, I used to revel in selling homes with well-known residents from the past. I have even sold a couple with those Blue Plaques on the walls, over the years, detailing famous historical figures who once lived there. But the laws as they are preclude any spurious tales about a home’s history, unless they can be verified and quantified. It’s why estate agents’ particulars are so uniform sanitised and dull. Don’t blame me, blame the consumer lobby who assume every buyer has had a full frontal lobotomy before they were given their first credit card. Caveat Emptor is as dead as the Latin language.

‘So why does she want to sell her home,’ I ask F, after scanning the message book. ‘Surely she loves the company?’

‘Apparently the ghost spooks the cats.’ Says F, in apparent seriousness. 

Now I’m starting to like this  apparition. I’d love to be able to frighten away every little spiteful fur ball that has stuck it’s claws into me over the years. They seem to know a cat-hater instantly, even before I start sneezing; and kicking some malevolent moggy while the owner isn’t looking makes a valuation even harder than it is.

‘Good luck.’ Says S cheerily as I leave later. ‘Do you think she’ll be sensible on price?’

Not a ghost of a chance. 

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Stairway To Nowhere - Wednesday

‘What’s this shared ownership all about?’ Asks trainee F as I bustle through the office door hoping for a cuppa, rather than a tricky explanation.

‘It’s a bloody nonsense.’ Answers tubby finance flogger M as he balloons past munching something sweet.

‘I don’t think it is necessarily,’ counters S my negotiator. ‘They have to do something to help people get onto the housing ladder.’

‘Maybe,’ muses M showering her desk with sugary particles. ‘But not by making them pay top dollar for only 65% of the equity.’

M has a point, I think, as I set about explaining the schemes - often a condition of granting new planning permission - which offer buyers the chance to purchase a percentage of a new home then rent the remaining portion. M’s gripe is based around the difficulty in getting lenders to provide finance, the reduced opportunities to flog pricey insurance products and the fact that more often than not, the headline price for only a chunk of the new home’s equity, is very top heavy.

‘So,’ muses F painfully slowly as I eye the kitchen and wonder if I can sneak in there and make a cup of tea just for myself. ‘You end up paying nearly full price but you only own part of it.’

‘Pretty much.’ Concludes M with a sneer, before adding unnecessarily. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

M does his best to perpetuate the public perception of property people.

‘It’s not that simple.’ I counter weakly. Truth is no estate agent likes trying to value a shared equity home for re-sale. It’s complicated by the occupier not owning 100 % of the bricks and mortar. They have to agree a split with the authority that owns the remaining share upon which they have been paying rent. If they have the capital, they can buy out portions of that share - or indeed the whole amount - in a process known as stair-casing,. Usually they can’t afford to.

‘However you stack it.’ Continues M, warming to his theme. ‘Some mug punter has paid 90% of the real value for only about 50% of the equity. They usually end in tears.’

‘And it’s wrong.’ Says S earnestly. ‘The whole point is to try and get people on lower wages to gain access to decent housing.’

You’ve got to love her - only it’s frowned upon in working hours…

‘It seems a good idea though.’ Persists F. ‘You know, for people like me who don’t earn much.’

‘If you sold a bit more you’d get more commission.’ Snipes B from her lettings desk. The hangovers are getting rougher and rougher. I decide to ignore her. If I wanted a shouting match followed by tears, I’d have it in my own time.

‘It is as good idea.’ Argues S, eyes shining zealously. ‘It’s just been highjacked by greedy developers conning vulnerable people.’

‘They are a nightmare to try and re-sell.’ I tell the group cautiously. I’ve never managed to get a consensus between all the interested parties.

‘So they can’t sell on if they want to upgrade?’ Quizzes F.

‘Not easily.’ I concede.

‘Not ever in my experience.’ Carps M.

‘So you wouldn’t recommend I try and see if I’m eligible?’ Asks F flatly. 

‘You’ll need a decent employers reference.’ Says M woundingly. F looks at me and I don’t exactly administer first aid.

‘I’d wait until you have a decent deposit.’ I tell F neutrally. ‘Then buy a conventional way.’

‘That might be for ever.’ Answers F, eyes blinking rapidly.

If I wanted to work for The Samaritans I’d volunteer for their switchboard - at least someone might make me a cup of tea.

‘Anyone who buys on a shared equity should remember the old adage.’ Says M. ‘Caveat Emptor.’

With all the hand-holding consumer regulation and little Latin taught at school, the phrase Buyer Beware isn’t always recognised. F looks confused and M pounces.

‘You don’t know what Caveat Emptor is, do you?’ He mocks cruelly. I look at F, just for once I hope the dullard paid attention in class. He hesitates and the office falls silent. Finally he’s ready.

‘Is it one of those Pokemon characters?’

About 50% is missing.

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About 50% and more is missing from the cost of an ebook download - links to Amazon on the right - you need to do some work....