The night before, I'd been shivering in the pub, whilst downing my fourth pint, but when I woke up on Friday morning I knew I was rough. You know that feeling that comes to you straight away when you begin to think of the things that you were meant to do during the day ahead. They were all a write off, no way could I roll into work the way I felt now.
I sunk back in to the pillow and cursed my head and my aching legs for falling apart the way that they had. Was this not the body that you were meant to take for granted, and carried you through your life without any issue or crisis. Pathetic.
Since we've had children running around, picking up bugs, infiltrating other children and generally carrying disease, like rats in the Great Plague, or pigeons in a crowded City Square, we've been picking up these annoying little bugs and viruses.
The gradual onset of day brought with it the realisation that we had to prepare the house for a viewing from some more ditherers. I looked over at Claire, hoping that she would be the valiant white knight that would come riding over the hill and save me, and all I saw was this swollen, reddy, lump lying next to me making an odd noise resemblant of the noise the air makes when let out of a lilo at speed.
Terrific. Together we're going to have to pull through this one and make a show home standard home and take the kids to school etc.
But as champions do, and heroes of the old school do, and pillars of things do, we battled through successfully and reached the eventual result of a super clean home by 4pm. We were helped massively in this success by the nemesis of clean houses being invited to a friends house to play for the afternoon, which gave us a clear run.
At four hourly intervals, the time when we would gather in the kitchen to take our drugs, I would say it was comparable to feeding time in the penguin enclosure, but unfortunately it was more like Sid and Nancy at the Methadone clinic.
We vacated the house in time for the ditherers to make their inspection, as we like to create some sort of suspense. So we never know the appropriateness of the reviewer. Saturday morning, however, readily informed us that the family with three children thought that it was a lovely house but the garden was not big enough. Duhh...
It doesn't have a garden, it has a yard, it is clearly stated everywhere and our inept agents must even know that much about the product they're trying to sell. So, surprise, surprise, another waste of time. I wonder if this is not an elaborate means of someone ensuring that we clean our house within an inch of it's life every week.
What's made the house sale even more exciting now is that next door has decided that he wants to put his on the market as well. Not only does this portray an image of rats leaving a sinking ship and conjuring up illusions of the road going to the dogs, but also the natural factors of his house versus ours.
He lives somewhere in Eastern Europe now and has rented his house for the last five years, mostly to a pleasant, quiet guy in his forties. But the inside of his house unfortunately looks like a cross between one of the honeymoon suites in Auschwitz and Kevin Spacey's room in Seven.
The discerning purchaser would have to spend a considerable amount of money on just making sure that you didn't infect yourself every time you went to the bathroom, let alone the usual home improvements that one would make, cellar for bodies, love swing, human cannonball etc...
The value that has been put on his house is low, 13% less than ours, and given the nervous market currently and the perception of house prices in general, this is not the best news that we could've had. It just gets better and better. (this is sarcastic by the way)
On the positive side though, we could be living next door to Colonel Gadaffi, and that would make it really hard to sell.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment