khrist, mor

My solicitor was the first on the phone. The cash had been my account for no more than an hour and I’d already spent all but about £400 paying off numerous creditors, the few ones that remain will simply have to wait until, and this is the first time you’ve heard this, I sell my flat.

He’d called to tell me he’d been over to the estate agent in order to pay the agents fee from the deposit of the failed purchase. In the estate agents was a ‘hysterical woman,’ it didn’t take him long to realise that this was my ex-buyer. The call was a very simple warning. Brace yourself…

A minute after my solicitor had slunk off the line my agent called. He sounded troubled, as if he’d found a lump on one of his clockweights that wasn’t knotted ball-skin. ‘She doesn’t get it’s gone,’ he said breathlessly, ‘she doesn’t understand.’ I had one of those hot moments, if I’d been a lady I’d have swooned.

Apparently her solicitors had advised her, on approach to a legitimate ‘this is it’ deadline, to not contact the agent. This is just plain weird, I may have already suggested that if she paid some of the debts accrued by my moving in September when I was told exchange was imminent I was prepared to give her another fortnight. Why on earth this was advised I’ve no idea. I then discovered the reason her mortgage was rejected was because someone had fraudulently tried to access her account between exchange and completion and her credit rating had fallen out of the window and hit the deck with a splat.

My agent suggested some options. Either I give her another fortnight and sell her my property less the deposit I’d already received, or I sell the property at the current market value (it’s gone up by 10k since I agreed to sell at the price we agreed way back in the fucking Spring) less the deposit I’d already received, or I just tell her to fuck off out of it. If I took option one I’d have relatively gained nothing, option two and I’d have gained a bit more, option three and I’d be able to re-sale from scratch and gain a lot.

There is no reason on earth option one was an option, I’m not a charity and I’ve lost thousands as it is in solicitor and agent fees and having to pay both mortgage and rent. Option two was an option, I would have covered the monies lost by her faffing about and the flat would be sold, out of my hair for good. Option three meant I’d have to go through all of this shit again but I stood to gain much more in terms of revenue. My agent then told me he already had four people interested in viewing my gaff and it wasn’t even back on the market yet.

The thought of her distress was playing on my conscience despite having no reason to feel guilty about any of this as I’m 99% sure she was halting exchange to suit her schedule, though the matter of her credit rating and reprehensible legal team gave me cause to shoot myself in the foot and give her one more chance. I’ve offered option two, if she declines then I can walk away with my head held high-ish knowing I’ve been decent about the whole thing. Having said that I hope she doesn’t take my offer, little does she know by not buying I’ve saved her from a fate worse than Ebola. Or Cunt, if you will.

My agent was candid and advised me to move on, of course he benefits by a new purchaser as he gets a new set of fees (he’s already been paid out of her deposit, he’ll gain nothing if she buys now) but after working with this chap for almost a bloody year now I’ve grown to trust him to a certain degree, and we’re talking about an estate agent here. Indeed, he’s lost out too, he dropped his fees by half a percent when she welched on the original deal in order to get the balance back to where we were.

Family, friends, colleagues are telling me I’m better off out of it, and I agree. It’s just I want to sleep soundly, after all, it’s one thing to offer advice and another to live with the consequences of acting upon it.

Nonetheless, the fact I’d been able to pay off a few nasty debts was a cause for celebration in its own right, despite the questionable though perfectly acceptable source of their resolve. So I took IC out for a spot of dinner last night, a Turkish eatery in Hackney, her choice I hasten to add as it’s essentially a proper kebab shop with seating and waiter service. Christ have mercy it was good, cheap, plentiful and delicious. IC had the chargrilled king prawn kebab and I had the Doner, of course -not one of those typical elephants legs, proper slices of spiced grilled lamb that had been handpicked in house from the bone then built onto a giant spit. We split a bottle of Turkish red and ate slowly until farting full. Even with a starter of Tamara the bill came to under 25 quid. Sensational.

An unabashed, non-ironic rock ballad… I almost feel apologetic