I’ve looked at a lot of properties over the last couple of months, but hadn’t encountered a real “real estate agent” in that time. I think it’s partly because the market is so insane at the moment, they don’t need to be pushy anymore. Why should they work when you’re just going to come back and throw money at them anyway? That all changed today, when we went to check out a warehouse apartment. There we met Igor*, who was a whole different story.

The place was okay, but not great. Noisy, because of some type of industrial business across the road, although Igor clearly believed quite the opposite, since he repeatedly pointed out how quiet it was. Many other features were made mention of, including his own brilliance. Ultimately, lack of any outdoor area and divided rooms were it’s downfall, and I made mention of this when we were asked if we were interested in buying it. Maybe I should’ve been more forceful, because about ten minutes later we were getting something to eat before seeing another property, and my phone rang. It was Igor, asking if we had finance worked out, because he had some “friends” who could help us. I politely declined.

The next place we looked at was much better, but still not perfect - division of rooms seems to be the big issue with most places. This time the agent seemed to be intent on giving etiquette lessons, as when we left, he said “it’s a pleasure”. Slightly puzzling, since we hadn’t said anything, but maybe he was insinuating we should’ve been a little speedier with our thanks. He had a suave, Al Capone style going on, with a long camel coloured coat and casually tossed scarf around his neck, which may or may not have been made from an exceptionally expensive fabric. I’m tipping it was.

As well as checking out property today, I’ve cleaned out the fridge, washed up, changed two light globes, gone to the market and supermarket, and I’m toying with the idea of making a cake. Yesterday I went to four different places to find that damn cake cookbook, having decided I could save a lot of money by not purchasing cakes anymore. Of course even though I spent about an hour sifting through the cookbooks, I couldn’t find the one I wanted. I suspect the universe was telling me I’ve eaten enough already. But I say “forget that, universe”, and am going to make either a bunch of chocolate cupcakes with cherries inside, or Claudia Roden’s orange and almond cake. Or maybe both …

Today I’m loving: My brother’s insane commentary
*Name changed to protect the innocent (namely me)