I remember saying, while trying to find a flat to let in London, that I’d rather my kids grew up to be crack dealers than estate agents.
Well, it turns out you can add land lords to that list; After finding a house to let which needed refurbishing, we were told it would be finished by the 30th of June. However, after seeing the shambles the place is in, I would be surprized if it’s ready by the end of July.
Which not only leaves us with a bit of an accomodation situation, but kind of screws the pooch as far as my birthday celebrations this weekend are concerned. The plan was to be installed in the new three bedroomed house with plenty of room for the celebration attendees… now it looks like we’ll be going nowhere and with very little room at the inn.
What smegs me off more than anything is that the land lord guy must have known it wouldn’t be finished. If he’d been honest with me a week ago when I asked him, I would have let the place go and found somewhere else no problem at all. Not only is honesty the best policy, it saves a shed load of grief on the odd occasion.
