Time to move on?

When the quiet suburban street where we live suddenly became a business center, thoughts of `moving on’ did cross our minds!

Of course, the Missus was upset. Who wouldn’t be, for the constant sawing, hammering, banging out of walls, screaming of angle-grinders and some choice language from the building fraternity had ruined the natural tranquility of our residential area.

“We’ll have to put our house on the market.” said the Missus, handing me a tin of Brasso and a handful of rags.
“So what`s this lot for?” I asked tentatively.

“Cleaning up the door knobs and letter-box Lovey.” she said. “Nothing down grades a place as much as dirty knockers and knobs!”

First impressions count, they say, and preparing a house for the agent who is responsible for selling it is a long and arduous job.

We’ve learned a thing or two during the last two weeks! Firstly, if you are selling a house, it is always a buyers market…if you’re buying a house,, it’s always a sellers market. Take your choice, you can’t win anyway.

“Felicity Plowright, our agent is coming around this afternoon,” said the Missus.

“Better take that old slipper out from under the fridge, it doesn`t look sanitary.”

I’m shocked at this, “Then the ruddy fridge will wobble.” I retort.

“Then use a place mat Duckie, it’s more hygenic!”

I pick the one with Buckingham Palace on it, at least it’ll give the kitchen a bit of class.

It’s five minutes to zero hour, and I’ve swept the dust under the carpet when the Missus suddenly screams in anguish. “Good Lord, look out the kitchen window.”

Not knowing what to expect, I oblige! “Nothing wrong out there, what’s up?”

“Up!” She screams…….”Can’t you see?”

I take another peek, there’s only the old twin tub washing machine, a cast iron lavatory cistern, complete with down pipe, and that coat and hat stand we use for the garden hose out there. “Looks normal enough Lovey, you`re getting quite paranoid.”

“What about the bottles…have you gone blind or something?”

Now empties as far a I am concerned are a natural part of living, I mean, we all have them, and we keep them until they are no longer an eye-sore, and become a natural part of our environment.

“Oh! …you mean the empty beer bottles?” I say, all innocent like.

“Get rid of `em, we don’t want people to think we are a couple of alcoholics!”

Felicity arrives on time, and is fascinated with our humble homestead.

“Is there an outside loo?” she asks with a lilting smile.

“Oh yes, we have the usual offices out the back!” say’s the Missus.

At this I start gritting my teeth and shaking my head, but to no avail.

Felicity lifts the latch and stares in complete wonderment at the selection of wine, beer and spirit vessels that are stacked three metres high on top of the usual offices.

“I take it you don’t keep a servant?” she asks, without batting an eyelid.

“Not lately…..our income just doesn’t cover that luxury,”

The silence is deafening.

“Well then good people, I think that’s about it.” say’s Felicity, making a final calculation and erasing the outside loo with one foul stroke of the pen.

“How much?” I ask, hating the thought of losing our happy homestead.

“Start high I always say, try seven-fifty, you can always come down.”

By eleven that night, the Missus and I were beginning to get cold feet.

“Where will we go?” she asked, wiping a tear from her eye.

I never was very optimistic, “We’ll think about that when the time comes Lovey.”

Meanwhile, I’ve stuck my old carpet slipper back under the fridge,

Buckingham Palace place-mats just don’t have what it takes when it come to stability!