See it worked so well yesterday, having the plumber over - he was such a good distraction from other things in life... that we thought we'd invite another stranger to our humble abode - this time an estate agent, and why not indeed. We are planning to rent our Dubland Den in the coming months - since we have, as yet, failed to find one million dollars (pinkie finger at corner of mouth) down the back of the sofa, and will need to rent a place of our own on our return to Corkland (house guests are well and good, but screaming crying helpless ones tend to warrant their own space).
So - an estate agent it had to be. Ladies and Gentlemen, he let us down with a bang. He called in and despite wearing the usual smarmy suit complete with hair molded off a Ken doll and pointy shoes, he was perfectly nice.
I was waiting, watching, notebook actually in hand, hoping for him to do something obnoxious, say something mean or be overly schmoozy and enthused, but as he picked his way through the dog toys on the floor, and talked myself and Mr VC through what we need to do to get it rent ready, I found nothing to not like. He seemed like a nice human being. Is it the hormones? Could it be that we've met a fictional character? a Unicorn? am I about to wake up in the shower in a Dallas moment, where the last year never actually happened?! a nice estate agent... imagine.
Any other suggestions for interesting strangers we should have in our house will be seriously considered...
Also if anyone wants to rent an artist's retreat in Dubland, holes in the garden, toilet fully functional and not leaking through the kitchen ceiling... do let me know