FISHING LINES IN THE POND

1 March 2016

Lots of rain

Estate agency is like fishing.  You need to have some interesting bait in order to attract the fish and, with Easter coming up fast on the rails, I have been out looking for new properties for my portfolio.

The first house was down in the mountains.  A Canadian couple who had rung up the agency and asked that I come down to look.  The day started grey but the skies cleared as OH, driving due to the distances involved, and I rolled along the country roads.  The Pyrenees appeared bright and crispy on the horizon and grew large and impressive as we entered the village.  The air was cold and we shivered and closed the windows of the car.

We had an address but it wasn't that easy to find and a big point of concern were the signs everywhere saying 'no to the quarry' 'no to lorries" 'no to noise and disturbance'.  I stopped to ask the neighbours and one of them told me that there was a proposal for a quarry at the top of the road and 300 locals had turned up at the meeting to protest.  We noticed a lot of For Sale signs.  

Alarm bells flashing, we finally found the house.  On a steep narrow road. Surely quarry lorries would not go down such a vertiginous road?  The owners, well into their 80's, seemed blissfully unaware of the possible blight on their house. I signed them up as it was a lovely house for just 250000 euros but I did have severe misgivings and needed to make more enquiries of the Mairie.

Quick refuelling stop chez McDonald's and then back to the village to find the second property.  It was extremely disappointing, in poor condition, smelled of dog and was inhabited by a single retired man who didn't like housework.  We didn't sign him up.

Coffee break.  The rain was torrential and the Pyrenees had disappeared behind a black and ominous cloak.  As we were then very early for the third house, we drove around and found a couple of For Sale signs.  Noted details and phone numbers and then off to the last house of the day.

Oh what a joy it was.  When you think of an idyllic French farmhouse, this is what you think of.  Done by an English lady.  Beautiful farmhouse living room with whitewashed woodwork, chintzy furniture and a 25 year old cat with a broken tail.  Kitchen with oak units and a large oak buffet topped with old and much cherished wood.  Bedrooms that said, come in and relax.  Bathrooms which invited you to soak away your worries.  Immaculate two bedroom gite.  I could have happily moved in and spent my time, like the owner, doing the garden and creating lovely meals for her family and guests. Very happy to have this one on the books and the lady and I got on like a house on fire.

Back home and the skies had cleared and I walked the dog and admired the cowslips and green hellebores at the road side and felt more relaxed than I have in ages.

CONFORMITY, CLEANING AND LOCATION LOCATION

Friday 26 February 2016

Sunny and cool  14 degrees

After the torrential downpours of the week, and the persistent odour of damp dog, the day dawned cool and clear and for the first time this week, I was awoken by birdsong.  The sweet notes of a blackbird and chirruping sparrows accompanied the thin ray of sunshine piercing the darkness of my room.  In Summer, I never close the shutters but Winter always.

OH went down to the new rental unit to carry on with the endless small finishing off jobs and I looked at the kitchen.  It was the most terrible mess.  We had had words this morning.  OH refuses to have a cleaner but does not cleaning and is very, very messy.  He had agreed to hoover this afternoon.  I spent three hours cleaning and putting stuff away and then made a lemon and marscapone tart. 

OH arrived back and said most of the lights we had were not suitable for the walls and he would need to go to Ikea.  He then started on the 'have you done'ing.  Had I rung the clients on the list, had I rung the plumber, had I made the doctor's appointments.  He did not notice the gleaming kitchen, or the cake baking in the oven, and he dumped loads of stuff on top of the newly cleaned Godin (French version of an Aga).  We had more words.  He said why didn't I ring them now and I said I was getting some lunch, a shower, preparing paperwork for this afternoon and then I was going out to WORK.  I also said that if he wasn't so bloody useless at French, despite being over here 12 years, he would be able to ring them himself.  He said he couldnt manage over the phone, but in reality he cant manage face to face either.

We have an appointment at the podologue this week.  OH went on his own last time because the woman said she spoke English.  When I rang to make the appointment for this week, the doctor insisted I also attended the appointment. She said that OH had understood strictement rien and had spoken to her in some kind of English which she hadn't understood. OH had been speaking to her in his version of French which is strictement verb free and with a strong Lancashire accent.  He is currently learning Spanish and so throws in some Spanish words for good measure.  He doesn't pronounce those correctly either. He is verb free in Spanish also.  Interestingly, when we are in Spain, he throws in French words...

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyrenees

I headed out into the bright afternoon and the mountains were glorious and capped with the most perfect Royal icing.  The village in which I was meeting the clients is small and is a medieval walled city.  From the battlements, there is a plunging drop to the river and a horizon filled with glittering mountain tops.  I was early and stopped to admire the view.  There were two English couples chatting animatedly and I went over to discover if they were my clients.

The jolly couple had, unfortunately, already bought.  I liked the look of them. Unfortunately, I had drawn the other couple who were almost too posh to speak.  The woman had sheaves of paper and the man looked bored.  I drove them up to the first house and they didnt like it so we were there about five minutes.  We then went to a house in a village, one which I show regularly. They didnt like that one either.  Poor Russell, I do wish someone would buy his house.  I must have shown in about 40 times over the years I have had it.  No one likes the village and the house is strangely organised with bedrooms and bathroom directly off the kitchen and a loo in the living room.  I have only had one offer in seven years and it was 40% below the newly dropped asking price.

Finally, we went to a house which I had suggested and they warmed up rather as we went around the garden.  The owner was in the dining room, her clothing bristling with pins, and in the middle of a knotty upholstery problem.  Her springs were misbehaving and the horsehair made her itch.  The woman client asked about the drainage system and did it conform to modern standards.  It is mains drainage, said the vendor.  Yes, said the woman client, but does it conform?  The vendor's eyes narrowed.  She is from the Dont Take Fool's Lightly school.  It is MAINS DRAINAGE she repeated, eyes narrowed and eyebrows raised.  Hmmph said the woman client.  They traipsed around and then disappeared to torture another local agent.  They are looking at houses all over France and will, no doubt, be annoying people over a wide area of the country.

I said goodbye to them and went back to thank the owners for letting me show the house today.  The vendor looked dispirited, even when I said that the clients had not objected to the fact that there were adjoined houses and no shops in the village.  I know we will never sell this house.  They will carry me out of here in a box ...  she said glumly.  Basically, it is not a problem with the house.  It is delightful and has a beautiful garden.  The problem is the village.  It is no where in particular and is on the route for a lot of lorries.

I left and went to see my lovely friend Rose who bought a couple of years ago and is in a neighbouring village.  We sat outside and enjoyed tea and chat and then the sky darkened so we went inside and looked at her button collection and then it was time for home and OH had cooked.

Rain hammered on the roof all night and I could hear the river rushing along our boundary.

LET BATTLE COMMENCE......

Monday 22 February 2016

Sunny 12 degrees

Yesterday was a warm and sunny day and we had gone out to start to tackle the great green beast which wraps around our 1852 stone farm house.  The grass was bristling with new growth, buds are appearing on the trees and there are some totally confused Midwife toads which have started their evening chorus three months earlier than normal.

The brambles are a knotted mass in the slimy remains of last year's canna lilies and there are grass and dandelion everywhere in the long main borders.  I used to love my garden but now it just makes my heart sink when I think of how much work it will take just to get it in shape for the season.  Fortunately the weather was good in December so I am well ahead of where I am normally at this time of year.  OH played pick up sticks on the lawn and I hacked at the roses and pulled out dead stuff.  He then came over and manhandled the brambles out of their knots.  Made good progress.

Today it was Monday again.  I was not in the mood for it.  9.01 the phone rang which could only be my Austrian seller of the scary chateau with the massive renovations.  He asked if I was well and I had to lie.  He said he had something to tell me which was not altogether good news.  

The chateau, built originally in the 15th century, has belonged to the King, the church, assorted wealthy individuals and then, as is often the case, was bought by a foreign buyer who loved and renovated it and lived in it for many years.  It sits at the end of a now badly rutted driveway.  Massive stone columns guard the now gateless entrance and then the  chateau reveals itself; massive and statuesque.  There are three owners - the mother - the doyenne - who is now unhappily ensconced in a flat in Austria, the younger brother who lives in Austria and the elder brother who lives locally.

It transpires 'the not altogether good news' is that the elder brother has already put the kibosh on a couple of sales, by refusing to sign any of the paperwork or give his agreement to any previous offer.  Now they tell me.  He then follows up by saying that if the EB decides to be awkward again, he and his mother will go down the legal route.  As 66% shareholders, they can force the sale.  But this may very well put off the buyers as they may be reluctant to be involved in a long and protracted purchase.  Oh bugger.

Every year, I have an epic battle on at least one of my dossiers.  Here is this year's one, presenting itself nice and early so it can torture me over a lovely long extended period.  The difficult brother has asked for yet another week to make up his mind about whether or not to accept the latest offer.  My buyers cant come over until the beginning of April, so that is good as it gives the EB time to think that he is not being pushed.  We have yet to sign any written offer.  OH thinks I should get the buyers to sign what they offered originally and then at least we would have a starting point.

On the good side, I always have one sale which is plain sailing.  The rest involve average amounts of wrangling.

Miss Tea's purchase is proceeding smoothly.  Mr Wearing is planning on coming back over within the next month.  Mr Chips and Mrs Chips to be are back in the US and want to come back and see the chateau when the awful locataires have moved themselves and their junk out and into their new house.

Went out in afternoon to see a house which didnt look too inspiring from the outside - plain facade and rather Soviet looking grey tiles everywhere.  It was at the end of a very very long country lane.  The GPS had no idea where it was so I was running on plain faith.  Miraculously, the house appeared at the end of a woodland dell and what a joy it was.  The couple, from Monaco, had taken an uninspiring 1950's house and made her beautiful.  We drank coffee from delicate Limoges china and were warmed by the sun flowing freely through the large patio windows.  The garden was extensive and full of beautiful old trees and massive stands of bamboo.  On the top of the bank a plateau of land and there the swimming pool with wide views of the surrounding woodland.

Drove home feeling good.

TIME TO REGROUP....

Monday 4 January 2016

Very wet - non stop rain

The thing about being an estate agent is that the show isn't over until the lady (fat or otherwise) has bought something with the opposition....  After the disappointment over the flat which she absolutely loved and which the owner forgot to tell me is actually, and properly, sold - I regroup and show some more houses which belong to my colleague's portfolio and they are similarly rejected so I organise a visit on a private sale and it is the apartment underneath the one she loves.  As backup, I have two town houses with shops.  

Because the client tells me she is going Monday, I have to ring up the clients on Friday which is New Year's Day but no one seems to mind.  We are in the low period for sales and sellers sit at home, looking at the rain, and wonder is this going to be the year when they can move on.  A UK estate agent estimates that a property is starting to hang about if it is on sale for six months.  Here, if something sells in less than three months, it is nothing short of a miracle.  The town houses with shops have been on sale for at least three years.  There is demand but the locals are broke and difficult to please and the foreign nationals can choose to live anywhere.  It is a fiendish problem and, as a seller myself, I am only too aware of the stresses.  We bought an apartment block in town and the top flat, with its 42 stairs, took SEVEN years to sell.

We trek around the town houses with shops and the lady is very excited about the one in town, until she gets through the front door.  The odour of dog is still, alas, very strong even though the owners have moved out.  It looks dark and sad and as if they just upped sticks and ran South to a drier clime.  Dishes on the table, shoes in the hall, a dried up bowl of dog food.  The client starts reversing towards the door and we go and see the other town house which is charming but strangely arranged and this one is not a goer either.

The client is naturally effervescent but I can sense she is fading so I whip her around the flat underneath the one she initially wanted to buy and her fizz comes right back and she says she loves it.  On goes the happy hat again and I can hear the reindeer bells faintly jingling.  She says I need to come back to the house where she is staying and we can discuss the purchase process.

We get back to the house, bought by her friend through me just last year, and still knee deep in wires, cables and paint pots.  Her friend persuades some paint off her hands and opens a bottle of rosé (it is 6 pm) and we have nuts and paté and drink.  I listen to their phone messages and one of them says that the house owner needs to go into the maternity unit for 9 am tomorrow morning and to make sure she has a shower first.  As the lady in question is in her mid 50s and has only ever associated with other ladies, this is quite a surprise and we fall about laughing.  My client says she wants to take her friend to see the flat tomorrow, and will stay over a couple of days more, and I go home and OH has made delicious seafood ragout and opened a bottle of Cava.  Fall asleep whilst trying to watch Charade with Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn...