Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Sun Sets on House of Pants
This is the glorious view from House of Pants at dusk. We have another buyer. I dread even to type these words as I am now convinced that the minute I announce even the slightest upturn in my fortunes, that demonic force in which I do not believe but nonetheless seems determined to ruin me, will cast a cloud over my being that will make Frodo the Hobbit's trek to Mount Doom look like a Saga Holiday. Call me hellbent.
Incredibly, after a weekend where the housing market in Britain threatened to crumble into a million little pieces of crazy paving, we have a buyer who has this day paid a large deposit. This is far farther down the line of exchanging the admittedly dinky and gorgeous House of Pants for an unknown wilderness future than I and my purr-petulantly ungrateful hypo-allergenic owly-cat Barney have ever managed before. Perhaps Barney has become the guardian of the ring. That would certainly explain his sudden invisibility when there is any packing to be done.
It all happened quite painlessly that Saturday when I went to see Atonement and Barney was trying to work out whether the owl or cat part of him was better qualified to stalk the new batch of coot chicks that had hatched out in a nest very appropriately built on the remains of a Maclaren push chair that had been dumped into our water feature.
I had resisted deploying the inhumane practice of crowding all potential buyers into the flat and goading them into believing that if they didn't commit to prostituting themselves to the Royal Bank of Sodom for four lifetimes within five minutes of entering the sacred Pants Portal, some other bastard would beat them to it. However it does seem that buyers in London don't feel as if they've bagged themselves a des-res unless they've had to arbitrage a dozen other contenders out of the way.
I feel even more relieved than I did after that unfortunate episode with the faecal furball earlier this year. It takes me a day and a half to get House of Pants into a condition where it is even vaguely habitable and only an hour and a half to trash it to the point where Environmental Health might think about closing us down so you can only imagine the strain it was to keep it clean for weeks of random enquiries. The limited viewing scenario seemed to work well for all concerned. My living quarters only stank of bleach for a day, the agents only had to do two hours work and the buyer felt like she'd won an egg and spoon race.
So the countdown begins again. I look out at these superb September sunsets and reflect on the lovely weekend I've had doing Open House London and the Thames Festival and wonder what my new life will look like. There is trepidation there but I still have one up on Barney. I haven't yet told him there are snakes where we're going. Shhh. Revenge will be sweet...