London estate agents sting. They are not bees but wasps. The only honey is the honey trap. They do not die after the sting but rather come back and sting you again. O praise these resiliant and resourceful creatures who are loved by none.
I remember young Marcus after we went to see a ‘beautifully presented’ flat near the ‘hub of Brixton town centre’. On the way in the little path up to the front door was clear. On the way out it was littered with a fresh syringe. ‘You’d better get rid of that,’ I advised, somewhat smugly. Marcus duly kicked it under the privet and clicked the remote to open his Mini Cooper: ‘So, shall I book you in for a second viewing?’ he called back over his shoulder. They can have such a dry wit.
London estate agents are ever so discriminating and can be surprisingly subtle in the way they express it. Emily, a thin girl with blond hair scraped back into a ponytail and liberally applied foundation is not atypical. ‘Of course you’ll get more value for money somewhere like Loughborough Junction,’ her face morphs into a toffee apple brittle smile. ‘Although of course, it is, well, very,’ here she pauses and almost catches my eye, ‘diverse.’
So you see, they really are very modern and up to date. They know all the right phrases. Corporate Social Responsibility, even, is not beyond their ken. Foxtons’ ubiquitous estate agent signs now carry advertising for local school fetes. Supporting the community in which they operate is high on the agenda.
The best property agents live in gated development penthouse showflats with slightly grubby off-white sofas. This is very considerate as there is no better way of sorting wheat from chaff.
Thatcher’s Children have come of age. Estate agents are their super furry mascots.
