By Arnold Jansen op de Haar

I’ve been in hiding for a bit. This came about because I was up to my neck in a swamp of estate agents and solicitors here in London. My sister was selling a lovely, small, sunny apartment with a balcony. A sought-after item in a raving mad housing market.

We landed twelve viewings within just a few days, including cash buyers, such as a man in sports attire driving a brand new Porsche, complete with six Polish builders in a white van on their way to a job.

The charming lady estate agent C. climbed the stairs up to the attic and remarked cheekily: ‘I do everything in high heels.’ ‘No doubt,’ said the Porsche driver, giving her a hungry look.

But that wasn’t until we were on our second estate agent. Let’s start at the beginning. In contrast to the system in the Netherlands, in England there isn’t a preliminary contract and the buyer as well as the seller can walk away at any moment.

The first buyer, who I will call Ms Gold-Dust to preserve her anonymity (if I reveal her real name you won’t believe me), made a very good offer.

After a month and a half Ms Gold-String went on holiday. With hindsight, this was a bad sign, yet she had made such an excellent offer, we kept hoping it would all come together. The estate agent actually said, ‘That’s typical of young people today, they suddenly dash off on a holiday.’

Even the fact that early on Gold-Bar had taken along an architect as well as an interior designer to see the property didn’t mean a thing, because after yet another month it transpired that Ms Goldfinger had a crucial lack of funds.

The next thirty prospective buyers were whisked swiftly around the apartment. This time by a new estate agent, the one in the high heels. I honestly have to admit that I was on the look-out on the balcony each time the high heels were on their way. I actually wanted to tell her: ‘I do everything wearing leather soles.’

I’ve never come across such a happy estate agent, nor a more beautiful or tenacious one. Because another estate agent can snatch away your buyer at any moment. The estate agents do all the running around, because they get paid at the end of the process, after it has all come together.

This is in contrast to Dutch estate agents, who get paid a substantial amount in advance and subsequently don’t do a thing. Well, after six months they advise you to lower the asking price, a figure they had recommended in the first place!

I don’t believe I have yet mentioned anything about English solicitors. The Dutch equivalent is often a grey, dignified gentleman, or well on his way to becoming one. In short: a-walking-rest-home-wearing-a-hat. A man of standing.

Friends assure me that in England most solicitors are like some kind of second-hand car dealer. Of course, ours was an exception, because we wanted to stay in his good books. We may need him in the future. Besides, the first thing he did on the day we completed was to buy a car, and he excelled in setting out doomsday scenarios. ‘It can still fall through.’

Whether the deal goes through or not doesn’t make much difference. The solicitor gets paid anyway, in some cases by the hour. This process goes by the name of conveyancing, another term for: how to make up as many delaying questions as possible. ‘How much do you think it will cost to paint the house in 2023?’

Throughout, everyone is a nervous wreck: buyer, seller and estate agent. Except the solicitor. ‘Afterwards you can laugh about it,’ is what they often say about this type of experience. But my sister and I often felt close to having a nervous breakdown. That’s probably exactly how the buyer felt. On top of this, cigars are four times as expensive here; I regularly felt like eating the soles of my shoes.

Yes, I know: it’s all much worse on the housing market in the Netherlands. But in England you would like just a bit more legislation after someone has put in an offer, whereas in the Netherlands you would like the estate agents to be a bit more active.

Maybe next time I will write about my new view over a small park, because after eight months we have finally moved. For the moment I’ve had enough of solicitors and estate agents, even if they are wearing high heels.

© Arnold Jansen op de Haar
© Translation Holland Park Press