I know. I’ve been missing, presumed dead. You’ve assumed that I fell down the stairs and no one noticed didn’t you? You have visions of me being eaten by Alsatians, Bridget Jones style.
Actually, you’re not far wrong. I’ve been hibernating. The winter is officially my least favourite thing ever, and despite escaping to the sunnier climes of San Diego for the majority of January, the weather has foiled me by having a cold snap, in March.
Last year I was wearing flip flops at this time of year (albeit with slightly blue tinged toes) but this year I am pretty much wearing everything I own to try and combat the arctic winds.
Why is it that when it’s cold and the wind blows, everyone makes weird noises? I digress.
So now its mid March I feel like I have to make the effort to get out of bed (I’M WORKING FROM HOME!!), socialise with the masses, shave my legs and embrace the world outside my window. And in the spirit of this, I’m moving house.
Roco and I have finally decided to move into a little love nest of best friendy-ness together (we want to get a pet hedgehog) and although this is a fun idea, it has its limitations.
LETTINGS AGENTS.
Or as I like to call them, wankers.
Having previously worked as the only female lettings agent in an office full of testosterone, I feel I have enough experience in this field to have a good moan. On my first day, the resident leader of the pack showed me to my desk, then pointed out the kettle and informed me that as part of my remit I was on tea duty. He hadn’t realised cutting remarks were kinda my thing. Regular jokes were made about my parking, my tea making, my cooking and my cleaning skills until I actually had to park one of the company cars on behalf of a bloke in the office who couldn’t get the angle right and had scraped the bumper. Y’welcome.
Estate and lettings agents are a different breed of bellend. These people seem to be bred in a factory of idiots, so they are finely tuned in not returning calls and talking “the talk”. Lettings agents tend to be the softer of the species, but as a person who has had the training and been encouraged to bullshit with the rest of them, I can firmly say that they don’t half talk bollocks.
We looked at 4 flats last night. In the defence of the first guy, he was OK. His parking though was terrible. I bit my tongue and resisted the urge to offer to park it for him. Sweetness and light…. little bundle of bitch is staying firmly covered up…
The second guy however, was a total stereotypical lettings agent. There was barely enough space behind his seat to sit, as it was reclined so far and at such an angle that only a baby would have been comfortable behind him. While showing us a new area, he asked which station we would like to be dropped at, and then told us it wasn’t on his way and that wouldn’t work, dropping us in what can only be described as the arse end of nowhere. Practically Scotland.
He then proceeded to do the talk.
“This one is my favourite! I know you’ll love it!” I looked at her and we mouthed, in perfect synchronicity, most expensive.
He then gave me the talk about the cost of referencing “it’s about a ton each girls, so we can’t do a deal” to which I stared him down and responded “it’s a tenner per person”. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. Win.
By the end of the viewings he got it. He had realised that we weren’t taking his rubbish and had firmly lost interest in us. I think the point where he took us to Byker Grove and we refused to get out the car was the turning point, if i’m honest.
The hunt, it would seem, continues…….
Tinkerbelle 