On Wednesday morning miss the opportunity to dash into the back office as Kim Possible(Not her real name) arrives at the front door - she calls in every month and after three years in her property still fails to pay the correct rent in one go - a young single mum she embarks into lavish detail to explain why her social life/holiday plans/the CSA/young daughter have conspired to her offering short rent (sometimes by £100 but sometimes by only £5).
Each month she asks if I think the Landlord 'would mind' if she pays when convenient - every month without fail I grimace sweetly and inform her that there is no problem as her mother is her guarantor so I'll call her for the shortfall... within the hour she is back with the balance of the money, now complaining about the ugly carpet (which, to be fair, was ugly when she moved in and is still just as ugly now).
The problem is that it actually IS an Axminster (a real claim for once - not one from Landlord who seeks replacement of a bonded felt hotel-lift style monstrosity with something far more superior). This carpet will not wear out until the third millennium - come dogs, children, upturned Ribena and fag ends - do your worst! Kim will live with this carpet until the end of her days. (Have you noticed how the durability of any carpet is in inverse proportion to its attractiveness?)
Call on another new property - one handed to us by a Landlord disgruntled with her previous agent - the nightmare logistics of this set-up (a very large pleasant house with a very UN-self-contained annexe) could produce an article of its own (and probably will one day). Suffice it to say that we called for an initial inspection of the annexe to find a large bin outside full of dog-poo bags. Rapid barking inside stopped instantly when we knocked, and we were ushered into the rather dank interior by Wayne Kerr (Not his real name) - a young man seemingly lacking in any charm or ability, he smiles, giving us a dentist's eye view of his remaining teeth.
The smell of dog is overpowering - 'Do you have an animal in here?' I ask 'Oh no' he replies 'It's not allowed on the tenancy agreement'. He glances furtively back towards a large cage in the corner of the bedroom area covered by a blanket. We start the inspection, which takes only a few minutes due to the restricted size of the place. Curiously the blanket on the cage moves as we walk around, rather as though a mystical periscope lies underneath. Bite my lip, and determine not to catch my partner's eye for fear of collapsing into giggles. Attempt to get Wayne and Mrs Wayne to understand that they need to remember to pay rent every month.
This concept seems to prove problematical for them them. They smile sweetly and say ' we've been in much worse arrears than this before, so we're getting better'. I glance down and realise that his self-tattooed arm contains the two words 'war' and 'pease' -I have the temerity to assume that he is neither a keen student of Tolstoy nor an epicure dedicated to mashed pulses - I remain mesmerised by the spelling mistake and begin to think that we may be onto a lost cause here with a man who can suffer so much pain intentionally to advertise a vegetable on his arm. As he starts to point out that he really does need to use BOTH the parking spaces for his (small) car as he can't reverse accurately enough to get the car into one or the other, I begin to lose the will to live and say we will call again.
I'm off to drown my sorrows.....
Mr Jackson.
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