Skip to main content

Interior Life of an Estate Agent. Part 2

Here's a conundrum. My car insurance needs renewing. Honest as ever, I tell my insurers that I work at the weekend and use my car for work. I am told that, it is most likely that if I use the car for business, the insurance premium will go up. If I use the car for business and don't tell the Insurance Company, then I won't be covered should I have an accident.

My difficulty is this: if I was driving my car to my voluntary work, at the theatre, then I would be covered; if I am driving the same car to the shops, to the beach etc, I would be covered. If, however, I drive to a house where I meet prospective purchasers, show them round, then drive back to the office, I will not be covered - unless, of course, I pay a higher premium.

Roads are roads are roads, and traffic is an unknown quantity. At any point on any journey, to the theatre, to work, around the county for work, or on any recreational journey, I could have the misfortune to be in a collision. I don't understand why the Saturday driving carries any more risk than any of the other journeys. Do people drive more recklessly in work time, then take it easy on the way home? It goes against the grain to discard my natural honesty but, should I have an accident, would it not be more sensible to say I was on my way to the shops? My salary is a princely £42 per week. My car insurance is already £284 per year. I could be spending my meagre salary on an increased premium if I 'fess up.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Running ‘till your nipples bleed

An email from a friend of mine arrives; she complains that, at work, she is routinely subjected to gruesome accounts of female colleagues’ intimate medical procedures and gynaecological problems. I am all commiseration because I, too, have had years of listening to workplace chats about periods, childbirth and sex lives. Oh please. Later, I wander off for a walk in the early evening sunshine and it is so silent and so beautiful that I flop down on the grass and lay awhile gazing out over the rolling fields, and the mouth of the river, and fall into a reverie. Two men pass by. A few minutes later sounds of women’s talk float nearer and, by the time the two females of the species draw level with me, I have risen up from my deliciously recumbent position in the meadow, alert and tense, something like a meerkat. “I do feel for her. Going down that IVF route is such an emotional roller coaster. I was never prepared for how terrible it was going to be.” I remain frozen in my meerkat position...

Ian McEwan. Amsterdam. London: QPD, 1998

McEwan’s novel about ambition, personal betrayal and revenge features Clive, a modern composer trying to complete a major orchestral work, his friend Vernon, an editor trying to save his ailing newspaper, and Garmony, an unscrupulous right-wing politician on the rise. In common, all three have, in previous years, been lovers of recently dead Molly. They meet at her funeral and the story follows the next few weeks of the men’s lives. Vernon and Clive act as one another’s conscience, each infuriating the other. Which is more important, honesty, friendship and trust or Vernon’s newspaper and Clive’s symphony? The novel presents the difficulties of balancing personal and public morality, the importance of private shame and public reputation, the conflict between taking a moral decision for the greater good, or putting first ones own desires. Not just a simple exposé of a politician with a vulnerable side, Amsterdam is full of double standards and surprises, and takes a long, cynical look a...

Ralph McTell, Truro, 19 April 2007

Ralph's mates from Pentewan have all turned up in a mini bus to hear him sing and play, and he walks onto the stage looking comfortable; he's amongst friends. He's a big man; very charismatic, with a warm smile and a beguiling aura of powerful gentleness. He's relaxed, we're relaxed, and he sits with his guitar, chatting easily between songs, and playing with an easy familiarity with us, and with his material. His guitar playing is intricate and playful; going from ragtime to blues to folk, and his voice is deep and rich. He comments that he's put together quite a serious programme for the two hours he's on stage; it's true that the lyrics are thoughtful and the subjects serious, but there is light material too; a tune about Laurel and Hardy, and one or two covers of old blues numbers. When he sings Streets of London there are happy sighs and the audience sing along very softly; as softly as a whisper. It feels as intimate as if we were just a few people...