Because property prices are really @#$!ing interesting

The Christchurch earthquake isn’t going to affect whether or not my flat is sold. It’s been on the market since August, and although there’s a housing shortage in Wellington and Auckland there doesn’t seem to be any real incentive to just… I don’t know, build about 20,000 new houses? Because the market’s invisible hand has its middle finger raised, and that would reduce demand and lower prices. Fuck property investors and all their values.

Anyway, 1) flat more likely to be sold because money is our one true god, but 2) flat less likely to sell, because everyone’s scared to live in old houses now.

I know all this because our landlady, her husband and a painter came round first thing in the morning unannounced to take a look at the place (“Cooee!”). They reason that if they spend a bomb tarting up the place (which has been neglected for the past twenty years) then it’s more likely to sell. Of course, the best way to sell it would be to knock down the house, cut down the trees blocking the harbour view I remember fondly from 2003, and drop a couple of hundred thou constructing a proper driveway. So people can build ugly, overpriced, flimsy townhouses for professional bastards on it, naturally.

Legally we could’ve told them to bugger off and give us some notice, but who does that? Besides, I resignedly calculated it required less effort to quickly hide all our drugs and dwarf porn and show them in, than to tell them to come back later and then give the house a proper clean.

“So this is where the creative magic happens” my landlady mused as she stood in my studio.

“Obstensibly” I replied.

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