I'm amazed at the number of you who read my recent post about selling my flat. Good grief, people! It's all fascinating to me but are you really that nosey?
Anyhow. The sale fell through. It turned out the nice couple who jumped to the head of the queue of buyers...Well, not to put too fine a point on it: they lied. They had assured me and the estate agent that they not only didn't have a mortgage, but had enough loose cash lying around to be able to buy my place without worrying about selling their place. Of course they got found out. When their offer came in in writing, a wee sneaky clause had been added: buying my place depended on them selling their own property. They were challenged. And continued to bluff. What was I making such a fuss about? Their house was near enough sold. No, they couldn't be sure their buyers weren't in a chain, although they could nearly guarantee I would be moved by Easter.
And, to my amazement, they weren't the only liars around. Two other potential buyers also lied - yes, dammit, just outright lied - about their ability to pay up. Neither had sold their own house as they'd told me, although one of them had had an informal offer and the other one had thought about it.
So I put the flat back on the market. And this time I seem to have an offer that stands up. It meant me borrowing a ramp so that the wifie could get her wheelchair in - which I did. And opening the flat up to the scrutiny of a patronising daughter. 'Well done, Dad', she told her father, 'Good choice.' I did wonder out loud what would happen if the daughter didn't like the place. From the looks Dad and I exchanged, probably nothing.
So here I am again looking for somewhere to live. There's nothing much for sale now - we're a month closer to Christmas than when I first advertised, thanks to the liars - so it'll be a rental. I've seen two and am already quite depressed. Two more to see this week coming. If they won't do, it's my sister's garage...
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