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Interior Life of an Estate Agent - part 14

The bad-tempered hibernating bear part of me has been temporarily pacified by the sudden arrival of Spring today. I drive around in my car, wearing sunglasses, with the windows open. The sky is a deep Mediterranean blue and birds are singing in the hedgerows. How soon I forget the misery of the last four months with one burst of warm sun and blue sky. It is the return of hope, like coming up from underground, from the dank, dark, almost suffocating pressure of winter into the light and air. Glory be.

It is even better that each week I show people round these houses, I come into the office the following week to find they are all under offer. Either there’s a shortage of properties or I am a stunning saleswoman.

Every property looks fabulous today, and all the viewers are in sunny moods; outgoing and cheerful. No-one is taciturn and morose. Until I meet Mr Expert at the end of the afternoon but he’s not going to spoil my day. He comes with his old mum to give his second opinion on a place she really likes. I’m disappointed he’s not my age and so I batten down the flirting mechanisms. Don’t blame me; blame the weather. Spring affects women too.

I am polite and helpful but, against his weary cynicism and smiling “I know all about everything but I’m not saying” mien, I am also less chatty. I do rally, and tease him when we get upstairs.

“Come on,” I say, “You’ve been asked to come along here to give your valuable opinion. Let’s hear it,” and look at him with keen interest. Here’s his opportunity to engage and speak about what he knows. He smiles enigmatically and says nothing.

Dear old Mum is all maternal pride and tells me her son’s a builder and he will say what he thinks. But out loud would be quite helpful. Only meeting one anal retentive in a day is quite good.

I am more than compensated for my patience by a HANDSOME man at the next viewing. This is such a rare occurrence that I do behave quite unprofessionally, and I unintentionally adopt a casual, almost shoulder shrugging attitude towards the hideously overpriced property where we meet. He’s great. Good eye contact, nicely spoken, LONG LEGS.

I am introduced to his friend, Brian, and for a minute I think “Of course, the tall, good-looking ones with nice haircuts and an appealing manner are all bloody gay aren’t they?” But I’m wrong. He’s married with two sons. Shucks.

I can clearly adopt whatever careless, aren’t-I-approachable-and-aren’t-we-comfortable attitude as much as I like, but the best ones are taken baby.
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