how to flirt with your surveyor

How to Flirt with Your Surveyor

Selling your home is stressful, this is not new knowledge; it's common knowledge, and however conscious we are of managing our barometer of stress, when that For Sale board goes up in our front garden, it often marks a temporary warp in our personalities! You may be the most competent, level headed, laid back human, but moving house can get the better of even the most angelic of us. Devilish behaviour can rear its head in the most unexpected manner! Surveyor's beware!

There are a plethora of crunch moments in the delightful process of selling and buying in England, and it can certainly be a tense ride, right up until you cross the threshold of your new home.

Imagine this: you are bulging out of your, what once was more than adequate, three bed semi detached. The paraphernalia of family life; the need for working from home space; your teenager's collection of skateboards and surfboards; your partner's inability to part from any past momento, although you have become adept in syphoning of certain objects, when, they're not around, yet these stealth like actions do nothing to indent the volcanic pile of stuff crammed into what once was your 'refined,' and 'elegant' home. Your space has evaporated; you feel suffocated and you have contemplated divorce!

The final straw moment arrives, as you twist your ankle, tripping on a skateboard on the way to the bathroom late last evening. All rage lets loose as you roar; ok, perhaps a slightly hyperbolic reaction to a mere nighttime trip, but nonetheless, justifiable, as the pain shoots up your leg. Feeling pitifully sorry for yourself as you awkwardly sink to the floor. That's it, you scream to yourself in your head, we're moving; this house is doing my head in.

Fast forward eight weeks; it's been utter misery; it's been all consuming: tidying, cleaning, being overly polite when viewers come round, trying to refrain from snapping at them as they ask pointless questions. Then listening to feedback about your home, try as you might, not to be pissed off when someone says your kitchen is too small, or your bathroom needs updating. You finally get an offer, an offer, you try not to get too excited, but you can't help it. You jump on rightmove and see if the houses you liked are still available – heart racing – this is a big moment! All the shit has evaporated – at least for a few minutes.

Fast forward another six weeks, the utter misery has turned to living hell. You can't go on, and just as you start to seriously reconsider an alternative way out of what once was a beloved and dear home, but is now a noose around your neck, you get another offer. Your heart skips a few beats; you take a deep breath and as you reply in your classiest, slightly breathless – due to the anxiety and adrenaline telephone voice, of course the surveyor can come tomorrow at 10am.

The place is a tip – even when it's tidy. Frantically you try to remain calm and think logically about what the surveyor needs to do and where he'll need to look etc. Your mind wanders… after all, this feels like Mr Surveyor man is your last chance before divorce. After all, he holds the key to your sanity! The key to your future. This is cause for action.

You catch yourself in the mirror, not ghastly, for a middle aged woman. You breathe in and turn to the side. A big breath equates to two dress sizes – could you slide into that slinky Oliver Bonas dress, you ponder. You smile – your crows feet seem to be resting today, as your skin appears pretty vibrant. Your desperation distorting all common sense as you play out, tomorrow's appointment with the surveyor.

You envisage him, (your buyer's surveyor is likely to be male, so the statistics say) in your minds eye; he is mid-thirties, can't be too young, that would be too weird, he's the bookish type, wearing a rather dapper Harris tweed, and has a mop of dark hair. Perhaps, your imagination is running away with itself, as you actually move from feeling fearful about his visit, to feeling rather excited, as you laugh inwardly, at the scene that unfolds before your eyes!

Fuck it, you think, what would be the harm in making an effort tomorrow morning – after all, a harmless bit of flirtation, could be what seals the deal!

Whatever you do my fellow house sellers, refrain from coquettish behaviour. Keep that devil tame! Unless of course, you are one of the small percentage of us that actually has the looks and prowess to flirt effortlessly and without humiliation!

Refrain and simply ensure the necessary building documentation is available; perhaps pull your loft ladder down, ensure the back door is unlocked and your garage is open. The safest sweetener is a cup of your finest tea; a teacup if you have one, and a shortbread or two. They are a professional and educated bunch and you could liken them to the librarian type or the traffic calming type, so any form of boundary stepping will be high risk! Of course, there is always an exception to the rule – but that's a story for another day!

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