Another round of futility

What’s the worse way to discover, after a month of silence, that your flat is still on the market? When the estate agent calls out of the blue to inform you that you’re having an open day tomorrow.

Our garden still looks like Dresden, and there’s a springtime property glut, and they’re asking $50,000 more than they were seven years ago when they failed to sell it in a buoyant property market. Welcome aboard the SS Epic Fail, bucko.


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