Estate Agency is not a Profession
Well, it’s been all quiet on the blogging front, and for that I apologise to Jane’s mother. However we have not been idly kicking our heels. As many of you are aware we made a brief sojourn to London when it transpired that the house we were buying was sliding down the hill. This is the continuing story.
Whilst we were back we found a cool little place in Balham and put in an asking price offer. Then the fun and games started. Due to bizarre circumstances, a squatting tenant further up the chain, the vendor wasn’t able to accept our offer but we left it on the table and the estate agent stopped showing other people around. We returned to Singapore broken by the week tramping about – but with hope.
Fast forward three weeks and I get a call from the agent in Balham letting us know the vendor is now in a position to accept our offer and get things moving. HURRAH – cue dancing around our little Singaporean home. Third time lucky.
Given the machinations the previous mortgage company put us through, losing paperwork, endless hours re-explaining our situation to call-centre monkeys with little ability to understand that we were calling from Singapore and thus on occasion it was 2AM IN THE MORNING and we shouldn’t be PUT ON HOLD.
So we arranged a mortgage, paid out yet more fees and the wheels slowly began to turn.
Until ten days later, when we received a call from our barely coherent estate agent (what is the female equivalent to a “wide boy”?) to try and extort a further 25 thousand pounds from us. She was doing us a favour though, as she pointed out, the market had moved on enough in the last ten days to ask for another 55. You may not believe me, check for yourself=.
Refusing to be extorted, Jo and I turned down the ‘special offer’ from the vendor. Which was met by a return mail asking if I was still interested. Apparently opening the email with “In that case I’m afraid we are going to have to withdraw our offer”, wasn’t clear enough. I can’t help but think with the UK’s property madness all we’ve done is give a load of money to people in cheap, shiny suits from Next.
The previous weekend however, after a lovely Full English breakfast, Jane, Jo and I had wandered down a side street near us to peruse some local galleries and furniture shops. We’d also meandered into a show flat for some as yet unbuilt condos. We poked around, making interested noises, but thought nothing of it.
And as of this morning, we own two.
It would have been earlier but for Lloyds TSB. In order to secure the properties we needed to give the realtor a cheque for 5% of the value. However the money was in the UK and we didn’t have a cheque book in Singapore. It’s taken 10 days to change this state of affairs.
Initially we tried the call centre (of course the only number they distribute to customers) but they could move the required funds over the phone. So we wrote a nice letter, via DHL, to the Burton-on-Trent branch asking them for our money.
If you want to transfer such a sum of cash you have to go into the branch. Bit tricky given we’re six stories up and a thirteen hour flight away so we had to prove to the Burton-on-Trent manager that we were who we said we were. This was clearly the most interesting thing that’d happened all year, we answered trick questions about transactions on the account and Jo (and her Mum’s) history with the bank. This however was not enough; we could have got knowledge about Wendy’s recent marriage from anywhere. “Is there any way she could come in and prove that you were related?”
So we sent Jo’s Mum into Burton Lloyds, with an old passport with Jo’s name on, she was also subjected to interrogation and trick questions. Then set about getting our Singapore bank to write a letter proving our identities out here.
Twenty-four hours later, we finally got the bank to agree to send our money: “it’ll be with you by Friday”. Then the request was duly sent to the ‘payment centre’, where it sat unable to be chased for two days. Apparently they are very busy – that ‘send money’ button doesn’t push itself.
Meanwhile to placate our extremely pleasant estate agent, who seemed increasingly out of his depth with the slightly madcap colonials buying multiple condos in their shorts, we gave him a post dated cheque and filled out the paperwork. However the delay meant the cheques were paid in, then bounced (but not before frighteningly leaving a six-figure, Singapore Dollar negative balance in our two day old checking account for a day). Smooth moves, Crol-dham.
Our money finally made the journey over four days, arriving this morning, meaning that Jack Bauer could have saved the world four times or that I probably could have flown home, collected the money used twenties stashed in a suitcase and flown back quicker.
So today the developer got his money and we got our flats. It’s over. It only took nine months and 7000 miles for that to happen. Easy. Oh and another three years for them to be built, but during that time no mortgage and they reckon the Singapore market is healthy and climbing, which seems not to be the case in the UK. I do hope our previous vendor doesn’t struggle.
Plan is to sell the properties near to their completion date, known as ‘flipping’ and meantime hope that loads of people want to move to Singapore – given the fabulous stories Jo and I are writing how could they fail to?
If you made it this far, CONGRATULATIONS! You are most likely related to us, possibly bored rigid at work or have the stamina of Paula Radcliffe. Suffice to say a large weight has been lifted from our shoulders, as at least we don’t have to talk to any more sleazy estate agents (apart from Nick at Andrews Battersea who was lovely).
Andy 18 April 2007
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I feel your pain. But rest assured its not difficult because your thousands of miles away! It’s just as difficult when the property you want is just 3 miles away! Estate Agents are the spawn of the Devil himself.
If I ever end up a homeowner it will be a miracle.
Good work on Turning down the ‘good offer’ from the agent. Its only if us moralistic people keep doing it that these sleaze buckets will learn.
Singapore condo’s sound fab. If I were you i’d stay and move in once they’re built. Nothing exciting to come back her for ;o) (Except beloved family and friends of course!)
You sound like you’re having a great time! I’m very jealous. Please blog more often. Its only the blogs of the ‘old’ mobilisation staff that keep me amused in the lonely nights at the random european grotty hotels my current role takes me to!
Love Vic x
Vicky Cobb # Apr 19
I would point out that bankjs are in fact just c@*ts, simple as that. distance is no object, they are c@nts if you are a minute or 13 hours from your local branch. For example, nationwide, send me a cash card for my new joint account with Heather, which never arrives, though i do recieve the pin number and a cheque book, i then ring up to enquire what has happened to my card, that has number ending in 3415, but no other information because it is all in little *‘s (security don’t you know, well you can’t be too careful after all)and am barraged with questions such as what time of day, in what town, in which year was this account set up, what was the name of the person who served the person who set it up, on said day, in said town, on said year, and what colour fucking socks did they have on at the time. Long story short, the useless malcontents are currently unable to send me a replacement card, (for the one they so inexplicabley managed to fuck up sending me in the first place). Useless c*nts, pure and simple.
Harley # Apr 26