On the Market: A Premier League footballer has his eye on Rachel’s house...

I’m making this bad boy short and sweet.

I said last week that interest in the house had ceased and I was free to appreciate the neighbourhood a little more.

Well, things have changed. There’s a certain footballer wanting to take a gander (I know, ‘what?!?’, that’s what I thought too)… a ‘Premier League’ footballer, and anything beginning with ‘premier’ has to be good- Premier Inn, premier suite, premier delivery… I rest my case.

Even though I still hold back the urge to weep whenever someone mentions moving house, there is something quite compelling about a football player driving down our wonky, cement patched road, being heckled by the topless gurner and finding himself in conversation with me and mum- one curtsying and vomiting sexual innuendos, the other apologising profusely and orchestrating a grand tour.

I don’t watch or play football but there are so many questions I would have to ask, like:

Have you been involved in any sex scandals?

Why do footballers in the press choose to pay for sex when there are women that would throw themselves at them for free?

Have you ever been paid off to cover up something dodgy?

Why do you trip over during the game and roll around for ages, grabbing onto the wrong leg and crying?

Have you ever caught wind of match fixing?

Ever seen anyone doping before big games?

Damaged any public property?

Taken crack in posh nightclubs?

Are you battling depression or any other mental health conditions as a result of fame, pressure or ageing?

Do you ever feel guilty that you make catastrophically more money per annum than a doctor, paramedic, nurse, surgeon, soldier, midwife, teacher, farmer or social worker?

Well, I hope he’s prepared.

The saga continues…