We had a chinese last night as we were late getting back to the B&B.
Usual stuff, sweet and sour chicken balls in batter and boiled rice.
We ate it in the car having asked for two containers as I already had two sporks to eat with.
Maggie had a little bit of rice and a chicken ball ( we had the odd number of 9), but none of the gloopey sauce.
It’s funny how this simple dish varies from takeaway to takeaway. It’s usually a safe bet for us, so we thought nothing of it.
We made our phone calls this morning withdrawing our offer and interest, and let us just say the Estate Agent was not too happy.
It would appear he was counting his commission, totally convinced we were going to buy it. He had not bothered to ring us to advise that our initial offer had been declined, nor that a second party had offered more, and we only found out because the vendor did, having said they had another viewing the following morning and would let us know how it went.
I rang the vendor first thing and spoke to him directly. He was disappointed, but understood, asking if there was anything they could do for us to proceed. I had to come clean and say that I had overstretched with our first offer too, getting carried away with the moment and the fact that Hubby and I had finally found a property we both liked on first viewing.
I wished them luck with their second viewer, whose brother actually lives opposite them.
It was like travelling back ten years, only this time it was one with a licence.
One of the lesser reasons for selling the cottage three years ago was the village hall directly next door.
It was used for school fêtes, dancing/aerobics classes, whist drives and bingo occasionally, then the trustees/governors/caretakers or whatever they wanted to call themselves would arrange discos for the under 16s, birthday parties, wedding receptions, and of course New Year bashes.
Well, they do if reported by the government, but my little spreadsheet is a gem.
We thought we had struck gold with a lovely little bungalow, all tidy and up together.
Sure it needed a few things, but if the price was right, we’d have enough to do them, but we could move in and live, doing one thing at a time.
That’s our dream gone in a matter of seconds following a phone call and a second viewer putting in a higher offer.
Anyone remember the days of The Secret Shopper, where people were hired to frequent certain business outlets and report on service and the like?
Hubby applied for such a job but was turned down, but sometimes I wonder if they missed out because both of us are so friendly and nice, we can practically find a member of staff’s inside leg measurement in just a few minutes as people talk to us.
Now it would be funny if I had an alias job, and this morning I could have owned up to being an undercover HSE operative.
Posted in diary, humour, oh dear
Oh boy, I’m so tired.
Seven viewings today, plus three cancellations due to accepted offers.
On a scale of one to ten, we have one that scored off the charts (backwards), one that was a mobile home with a brick skin built round so I’d give that a 3, two around 4, two a 5 (offers on the table higher than the asking price for one already and about £10K worth of work to do on it), and the seventh pretty damn good!
We have four to view tomorrow, our first and last appointments of most interest, and two more on Friday.
The cheaper and decent properties are being snapped up, so I’m glad we’re here as the agents were able to give us alternatives to the three we missed out on, one of which was our project house (see here).
It’s been a long day. My fingers aren’t hitting the right keys and I have so much in my reader, I can’t take it all in, so my apologies.
Off to walk the dog for her final wee, then bed.
Here we go with this week’s challenge
Hope is running high,
Disappointments are forgot,
This time, shall we stay?