Sorry about the recent silence from us – we’ve been busy, busy, busy! As of Monday past we are officially on The Market (remember: tombstone voices, please) and we’ve even had our very first viewers.

Thursday evening was our first open viewing: in Edinburgh it is normal to have an open house from 7-9pm on a Thursday and 2 – 4pm on a Sunday, with people able to contact the seller direct to request viewings at other times, by appointment.

From my memories of selling our previous flat I had certain expectations about how the evening would run, and for the most part I had remembered correctly.

I left work not long after the children were gone to do the housework and make the place look amazing, and by 6pm the flat looked, even if I do say so myself, fucking beautiful. We had the fresh flowers, the plants, the clean, crisp bedlinen, the over-flowing fruit-bowl and the strategically placed lights adjusted to look bright but natural.

I had the butterflies in the tummy which I remember, and went through with Paul what i intended to point out to viewers. We weren’t having dinner till after the viewings to avoid making mess and smells so had a wee snack and fitfully ‘watched’ TV – really I just glanced from it to the clock and back again. Alot.

Finally it was 7pm and I readied myself for the last part I remembered from previous sales experience – customers.

This, sadly, was the one part of the procedure which failed to live up to expectations.

7.00 – Nobody yet. Don’t be daft, no-one would want to appear too early and too keen.

7.30 – Still nobody, but surely, soon. Soon.

8.00 – Hmmmm, maybe people will all turn up at the same time…

8.30 – Fuck. No-one’s coming tonight.

8.50- Well, that’s it then. No-one’s coming tonight because no-one’s ever coming, we wont be able to go to Thailand and my life is over.

8.55 – *BUUUUUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!*…. FUCK! Someone’s here – quick, plump up the cushions.

Having spent 2 hours miserably reading my novel about a teenage mass murderer (got something to say about that, do you?) and convincing myself “it’s all over, the dream is dead”, I didn’t really have my head screwed on for the viewing, and particularly not when I was faced with such a taciturn audience.

Me: This is the lounge, as you can see it’s a huge room, we can easily seat 4 – 6 for dinner in the bay window area, and the woodburning stove is working and in use.

Him: Mmmyeh.

Me:… and…. the original coving as you can see… there. We have a fantastic sea-view from the bay window.

Him: Mmmmmyuh.

Him: Is it a gas boiler? Combi?

And so the viewing continued – I nervously babbled away, putting my foot in it left, right and centre – “This is technically a proper bedroom because is has a window.”, “There’s free parking outside, but it’s rare as hen’s teeth”.


The lovely, and ever tactful Paul proceeded to point out to me the areas where I had fucked up once the man had gone away (stoney-faced and “mmmmm”ing all the way). This was not a process I particularly enjoyed, and which did make me a tad grumpy.

Admittedly, I have to hold myself responsible for this. When I rather smugly asked if Paul would like to watch me conduct the viewing to, you know, learn from the master, I threw in a magnanimous “and if you see me doing something silly you can tell me at the end”.

It’s my fault because I failed to make it clear to Paul that I didn’t mean it. I should have said “Watch me do this because I have an overly high opinion of myself, and don’t tell otherwise or I shall thkweem and thkweem untiw I’m thik!”.

Silly me.

Anyway, I learned my lesson and when a lovely sounding man asked if he could come to see the flat on Friday evening I gladly left it to Paul and buggered off to training, where I’m marginally less likely to make an arsehole of myself and lose hundreds of thousands of pounds. Marginally.

Needless to say, Paul did a sterling job, the viewing went fantastically and I was forced to eat a big, fat slice of humble pie.

On the plus side? I’ve got a brilliant excuse not to do the viewings again 🙂