Four months since agreeing to sell my house and put an offer on another one, I am still waiting to exchange contracts and arrange a moving day. The frustrations I have encountered along this journey have far outweighed my expectations. At first, I quipped that I could use the experience as inspiration for a new novel. Now I’m beginning to feel a little less enthusiastic about the whole sorry saga.
Solicitors are dragging their feet, and I can’t blame one more than another. In total, I am in the hands of four sets of solicitors, or is there a special term for a group of these people? A Gaggle of gossipers, perhaps? A crew of conspirators? A league of anything but gentlemen?
I don’t mean to be unkind to the profession, and I’m sure there must be some very good and hard working solicitors in this world, but so far I haven’t met one.
Phrases such as, ‘It’s in the post,’ or ‘We are dealing with that,’ and even, ‘I’m afraid that’s a standard fee and everyone has to pay it,’ are starting to get under my skin. I can’t prove that any of these statements are false, but as time passes the evidence is growing to support my theory that these people are being very economical with the truth.
I’m surrounded by boxes and every day that passes brings us closer to the Christmas holiday. I had an idea to spray-paint them all gold and silver, stick large red ribbons on them and put them under the Christmas tree. They wouldn’t look so untidy, and the camouflage would help to cheer my flagging spirits but I wouldn’t have room to sit comfortably in the lounge if I did that.
Christmas is a time for loving and giving, so I’m taking some deep, long breaths to calm my frayed nerves. I’ve also discovered that Christmas is a time when all good or bad solicitors close the office for two weeks of rest. AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH !!!!!!!
Roll on 2015, maybe we can book our removals firm before Easter.