Estate agents . . .

. . . . . a random topic suggested by Lesley

Let’s be fair, they are not held in great esteem by anybody. A friend who sold insurance once told me they were delighted when his profession had been knocked off first position in a pole of untrustworthy professions, by estate agents. I’m not implying that they are all con-merchants. It’s simply that as with all sales, they can involve some outrageous euphemisms. ‘Suit first time buyer.’ means it’s probably the only thing on their books you can possibly afford without having to sell one of your vital organs. ‘Ideal for DIY enthusiast.’ might indicate that it will probably require a massive amount of work to make it even habItable. I have to say though, that estate agents in the UK are mere amateurs in comparison to agents abroad selling properties, no matter what their nationality. Those people are not selling property, they’re selling dreams which means conjuring up images of sun drenched patios and chilled white wine in your rustic home whilst enjoying views over the Tuscan Hills, images which in reality, are a long way off.

My search began in Umbria where I met quite a few estate agents - some amusing, some extremely dodgy but all bursting with enthusiasm for what could possibly be done with the crumbling ruins that they were offering me. I was taken to one location which definitely fell into the DIY enthusiast’s realm. All the properties, I’d seen were uninhabited though this one did have one occupant - a dead sheep. On this occasion, even the estate agent was finding it difficult to enthuse about the property as the sight of the decomposing animal in what was potentially, the kitchen was hard to overcome. Another interesting property was a former police station which included a cellar complete with six barred cells, like something out of a mediaeval drama. Its grotesque nature inspired this estate agent to imagine how it could be perfect for entertaining though he omitted to specify what sort of entertainment he had in mind.

Not all of the properties I viewed were semi-derelict. One well restored property I visited was on a rock outcrop with a spectacular outlook. However, entering the building involved descending 20 or 30 steps before turning onto a walkway which brought you to the front door. The estate agent was clearly used to this and scampered ahead with the alacrity of a mountain goat, assuring me that I would get used to it though I was nowhere near to being convinced. The walkway reminded me of one of those insane constructions you see in the mountains of Nepal. Frankly, though it was spectacular, it was also life-threatening.

I eventually plumped for a cantina. At one time, every village had their own communal cantinas - one for white wine and one for red, and the property I viewed was essentially a wine vat with a large room in the front. I loved the idea and it was in a lovely little village with two bars and a pizzeria. Delighted with my purchase, I’d flown home and visited my parents to show them what I’d bought. They were underwhelmed. So much so that a few days later my father quite casually announced to my mother at lunch ‘I think Rowland‘s gone mad!’ Maybe he was right but I’ll be there in a few weeks and I can once more bask in my own insanity - I did it and I love it.

As it was . . . . . . .