On the Market: Remembering disastrous property viewings...

Rachel Love

Rachel Love - Credit: Archant

Turns out property viewing calamities aren’t a new thing for Rachel…

Our search for the perfect house has proven futile so far, with only a few viewings under our belts and nothing in the pipeline.

It reminds me of when we put the house on the market in 2009. I was 16.

It was a Monday morning during the school holidays and mum was heading to work. Before she left the house she mentioned someone “possibly popping over”. I wasn’t listening, I was asleep.

“Keep the house tidy and put some proper clothes on!” She called from the other side of my bedroom door as I rolled around on my bed trying to muster the energy to get up.

Completely forgetting what mum had said I decided it was a pyjama day, so I shoved on a pair of scruffy shorts, navy blue and covered in splodges of paint from decorating. They had been part of a joke present from a friend - a “sexy pilot” costume she had bought me for a Halloween party, which I refused to wear, now they were painting shorts. With a messy bun sliding off the side of my head, a t-shirt with holes and a pair of furry slippers, the look was complete.

Buttering my toast, I heard the doorbell ring. An old man and mousy-haired woman introduced themselves, Kelly and Ned. Suddenly I was all too aware that they were viewing the house and I looked like Stig of the Dump.

They looked me up and down with mild disgust, mingled with something like derision. The woman was middle-aged, she wore a smart suit and her hair was slicked back into a neat ponytail, the old man wore corduroy trousers, sandals, a summer shirt and a furrowed brow.

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“This is my dad, he will be moving in with my husband, the kids and I.”

I had seen that kind of family set up on TV before, the awkward arrangement of married couple and father-in-law.

“Oh god that sounds so awkward! I’d hate to live with my mum when I’m married, must be rubbish.” A pause followed while I evaluated my first error.

You can imagine the look on their faces, the woman raised an eyebrow and the old man blushed.

I turned from them in panic and began the grand tour. Mid way through the kitchen I heard the woman tut and when I turned to look at them they were red faced, the woman shaking her head in disbelief. I ignored her because she seemed like the type that was never satisfied with anything.

“Wow! It’s so big, it’s much bigger than the photos!” The old man said, looking around the living room.

Without a second thought I replied: “Ooh, said the barmaid to the vicar!” It was a compulsion. I lunged forward to elbow him, cajoling him into laughter, but he was offended and uncomfortable.


“I think we might go to be honest,” said the woman as they turned to leave.

“Sorry! It was just a joke!” I followed them along the hallway towards the front door, hoping I could change their minds.

Before they got in their car, the woman turned and said: “Oh and change those shorts! How inappropriate!”

“It’s just paint, you stuck up cow!” I yelled back. It wasn’t my finest hour.

When I got inside I looked at my paint splattered shorts. “Everyone has decorating clothes,” I thought.

But then I turned around and written in bold letters across my derriere was the word that will haunt me forever: ‘COCKPIT’

How had I never seen that before?! The horror, the sexy pilot horror.

Now, as we continue our house hunt we think “Surely it can’t get any worse than that.”

The saga continues…