It’s been a funny winter. Gales, floods, no snow.
The sun is finally shining over Hampshire after a deluge of rain that submerged most of the county. Noah would have made a fortune flogging some flat- pack arks.
My lawn is still squelchy but, hey, it’s March. Time to plan the usual round of gardening activities. Birds get frisky and parents look for new nests for overgrown, over- sexed offspring, fledglings, who would never, on their own, afford the first step on the rickety property ladder.
Four trips to London in seven days, and oh, the strain of being nice to smartishly- dressed estate agency staff! The gormless, the snooty, the wide boy etc flogging over- priced properties and lying, most sincerely, through their teeth.
In a haze of nostalgia we took our son to our first flat in DuCane court, Balham,” Gateway to the South”. Standing outside no K23 I was tempted to knock on the door. “If you do that, you’re not with me and I don’t know you” said my husband as he hot- footed it down the corridor with my son in tow.
Wimps.
Gazumped three times to date.
Hell is other people, looking for flats in an overheated market, in London.
There’s a pigsty in my parents’ garden in Wales with more square footage than some of the dives I’ve seen, and it boasts the extra luxury of a genuine slate roof.
You arrange a “viewing” and then, having politely nodded your way around the rotting woodwork, the filthy oven, the stained carpet, you are shown the “enclosed private garden”. You stand there, speechless, contemplating a square of weedy turf, concrete walls, a couple of fences blown down by the “recent winds” and you want to shout-
“WHAT THE F***.DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?”
But you don’t, ‘cos you’re on their mailing list for the next potential property. Only they don’t send you the latest offers ‘cos they’re inundated with other suckers like you, looking for the same thing.
How did a Neanderthal estate agent manage I wonder?
“ ... a superbly placed cave with favourable local amenities , stream, trees,...a nice class of bats and exquisite,organically produced guano. Integral air conditioning ensures ambient temperatures in summer and winter. Handy carved rock shelving for decorative skulls, knick knacks etc.Comes with the latest “Homo Sapiens” animal traps to deter unwelcome guests, Sabre Tooth Tigers ... Optional hardwood clubs useful for troublesome neighbours. Extensive wildflower/woodland gardens.”
Talking of gardens, I had an acute case of horticultural envy today. My friend A has done a wonderful job on hers. Looks like a proper designer garden, but then, after all, she is a designer. We sat in it as I, over a cup of tea, morosely showed her pictures of the London flats we had failed to buy.
Dean, let’s call him that, who does the” landscaping” hard work, was there. What he can do with a shovel is awesome. Never seen a human being who can dig like that. I trust this guy, who, unlike estate agents, has never overcharged or let me down. He’s listened to my inane suggestions with a polite “if I were you I would ....” and been an overall good egg.
Sitting in the sunshine on the newly installed railway sleepers, complimenting him on his work, he admitted to “a little secret.”
“Oh, what’s that then?” we asked, intrigued.
“I’m a cage fighter”.
Stunned isn’t the word. A, retrieving her jaw from the sleeper, asked,
“But you’re still pretty,( true, he has a very open, pleasant face) how come you’re not scarred with cauliflower ears?”
“That’s because I don’t let the others near my face. I usually win.”
Wow, fancy that!
Hmmmm. Cave hunting and cage fighting.
Maybe I should look at properties in the less chichi areas of” Sarf London”. Ones far from the potential apocalyptic flood of the Thames. All I’d have to do is install Dean in a cage outside, let him loose to deal with troublesome neighbours with his massive pugilistic fists and Bob’s you’re mortgage broker!
Elbowing out the feverish competition for potential nests is not a civilised way to behave.
Oh dear.
I hope I’m not the first cuckoo of spring.
