Open home

That wasn’t too bad. It was like shopping in Thorndon’s New World, which has more than its share of people I can only describe as “haughty”. Parts of it were hilarious, but I’m not sure if I should be laughing at rich white people.

Oh… why not!

The gnomish agent and a perky fembot who did all the actual work turned up ten minutes before it was supposed to start – we’d already had two people follow the signs up our path like German waifs to a house of candy (what else is there for property investors to do on Sundays except drive around looking for Open Home signs?) but my flatmate firmly told them to bugger off until 1:30pm. No sign of the landlady bearing promised gravel (the swift deforestation and heavy rain has resulted in some unpleasant drainage issues) so I covered our muddy path with shredded flora.

I think about twenty people came through, mostly in their fifties. No-one seemed very pleased with what they saw. They didn’t realise that while I lurked in my room I could hear everything they said as they walked outside, and there were many exclamations of horror at the asking price. From my brief reading on the subject, I understand that this is possibly the worst time for years to be trying to sell a property, especially for $150,000 more than what you failed to sell it for seven years ago. It could be a long August.

To be fair, for some of the people who turned up, that peeved, disdainful look might be their default expression. There was one particular man who made it very clear that he was a big shot by wearing a suit on a Sunday, and refusing to take his shoes off, despite the signs. He’s probably very nice to his adult kids and donates to charity, but oh, dear.

I was struck by the lack of curiosity these people showed about the section. None of them asked me any questions about the house. None of them ventured into our ravaged garden to take a look at our Tim Burtonesque foundations (it really is as precarious as that photo from a few days ago shows). A few of them stood on the highest bit at the end of the garden to try and get a futile approximation of the view in Property Press – the agents have left a big metal spike in the ground to mark the spot, so I presume you’re supposed to buy the house and then spend all your time standing on the spot.

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