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A new show started on 10 last week and I missed it. Him up there is the star so how bad could it be. I'll catch it next week.The last house viewing was at 6 o'clock tonight and it starts at 10.30 in the morning. At 5 o'clock I get to roll up at the Real Estate agent's office and open the bidding envelopes. The house could be sold tomorrow but settling is going to be 60 days or I'll be dead.
The target group was tradies with family who could do it up or people who would tear it down for a townhouse but the tradies are winning. One more sleep and it could all be over. I'll be down at the pub if you're looking for me. I think I'll need a drink.
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Ball is in your court really. You can say no. Don't let real estate agent slick talk get to you.
ReplyDelete"Him up there is the star so how bad could it be."
ReplyDeleteCliched, unrealistic, camp and dreadful?
Go with your gut instincts, J, and don't let anyone talk you into something cos you're tired, emotional, exhausted, and all of the above, like Andrew said.
ReplyDeleteGood luck, will be thinking of you in the pub ;)
I hope the perfect offer is waiting for you tomorrow, but don't clutch at straws just because you want this all over with. Good luck.
ReplyDeleteAndrew, can't fault the estate agent, no slick talk, no pressure and is taking all my suggestions on board. Also gave me a contract up front setting out exactly what commission they would be expecting.
ReplyDeleteFleetwood, who said those unkind things about you? By the way Robbert hasn't been heard of for a while, he's not propping up one of the outer walls of Chez Hughes?
Jayne, only one struck bells with me and the agent had already thought the same thing. Just something a bit off about the bid.
River, usually the first offers are the best ones. You can lose by waiting too long but it's the settling date I'm looking at.
The first offer didn't come anywhere near the price and the agent was sorry since it was a young tradie who really had a vision of what it could be.
...I hope you've returned from your drinking session and that something good was in one of those envelopes.
ReplyDelete"...he's not propping up one of the outer walls of Chez Hughes?"
ReplyDeleteIf he was I'd sweep him into the gutter along with all the other turds.
what a cowardly remark. i've emailed it to rh, it might bring him back (one can hope)
ReplyDeleteHello bumboy. Pommy. For fifty quid I'll dress up as a headmaster and cane you.
ReplyDeleteha ha ha.
Front door open, moon down the passage, oh my little sweetiepies, how I miss you.
ReplyDeleteTraffic over the westgate, flame over the refinery, oh my little cupcakes, where are you.
Cloud over the city, night over the bay, oh my petals
My darlings
Quite simply
I love you.
-Robert.
A poet does his best, but can't please everyone.
Poetry is not a tram ride
Running on time.
-ROBBBERRRRRT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*COMING SOON*
ReplyDeleteRH's Christmas Message.
curb your excitement.
Call this a blog? If I had a blog I'd post everyday.
ReplyDeleteThis is not a blog.
ROBBBERRRRT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Who opened the crypt and let Robbert out?
ReplyDeleteI was working in the lab late one night
ReplyDeleteWhen my eyes beheld an eerie sight
As Miss Jahteh from a slab began to rise
Saying "down to Routleys Boris: two dozen mince pies."
ha ha ha.
True.