Tales from the sales line

Life in the selling game is tough, and the daily grind of doing deals is ever more difficult, says the fictitious FR Loran of Loran Properties

WHAT a week. Just as I thought things were turning around (as in digital signal on the telly while being made to watch Mamma Mia with the Other Half, plus reports of a 1% improvement in property prices, though turns out it was a blip) I got a few blinding darts of reality.

Turns out Pierce Brosnan still can’t sing in Mamma Mia, even in digital. And, far more depressingly, when the average price you’re achieving for property is €15,000, a 1% jump isn’t a whole pile; it’s about the average cost of a team entering the local GAA golf classic.

I have had cars that depreciate more annually then the value of property that I am selling at present. The killer is that Mr Corolla Driver has won: the safe, secure, boring guy who you need to meet early the day of the wedding, as you are likely to fall asleep later in the night, listening to his stories of how he got €10 off at the shop for some diy implement or other that you don’t even know what it does.

This week I have had the industry standard two calls a morning from family members of the Kray brothers, looking for a house to rent with four bedrooms and can they keep a dog outside? Their pit-bull terrier is always described as ‘harmless.’ Of course. In the afternoon, maybe two more calls and usually a lecture on peoples’ rights and how dare I ask them are they working? Can they get a reference? and Can they pay a deposit? Who am I to ask?

Letting houses — which is now an income lifeline for auctioneers of old — should be a punishment for drug dealers. They would have the automatic manner required, plus the guarantee of always getting paid. Meanwhile the person who bought the house being let (previously called the owner, nowadays acting for the crippled banks/Merkel’s collectors, etc) can’t afford to change the carpet, replace the couch or even get the washing machine fixed.

Naively, this hard-pressed landlord then offers to reduce the rent and asks the tenant to do repairs in lieu — but this is another language to the tenant. The Social Welfare officer has long since gone insane and doesn’t really need the hassle, i.e same thanks on Friday, no matter what he/she does.

Things have gone full circle. Where before few wanted to take a tenant on social welfare, nowadays you can take no one else, as the guy who’s actually working for a living will definitely fall behind on his rent.

The beauty is the rent isn’t going to the bank and the house isn’t insured, and the property tax due on a second house is gone off the agenda. The bank can pay the Revenue what they’re owed from the proceeds of the forced sale.

I nearly lost my reason during the week with the bank, when the lovely girl (who may have been a pre-programmed machine) kept saying how they are giving out money. AHHHHH stop telling lies.

This is the real killer; so now I am dropping the price of what I’m selling by a further €20,000, and at this stage it’s at half the build cost — and that takes no account of the site value.

Spare a thought for the council who are being driven demented by callers as the services aren’t working in the estates they haven’t even taken charge of yet. The bond is a bit of a mystery and the repairs are impossible as the guy who did the work is in Canada/Australia/the pub. The conversation is very brief, ie “I never got paid, so eff off and find the pipe/sewer/wire yourself.”

I think the council will compete with the accountants and the GPs for alcohol addiction in the future.

The latest crack is that we, as auctioneers, have a new regulator: stable door closed, horse gone, anyone? Oh yes boy, we have to show our qualification, past experience and — of course — a tax clearance cert. The first two are no bother for those of us who were operating in the 1990s pre the boom formula. It went like this: 1 Sell the pub 2. Get a ball of money 3. Give some West Brit a ball of money for the use of his sales franchise and, 4. Hey presto, you have integrity, experience and of course all the work, as the parent company has the board of the bank by the balls.

But a tax clearance cert for an auctioneer? Now that’s a great example of irony at its best — auctioneers I know are clothed in old Olymp shirts and Remus Uomo suits, glistening from wear.

So, in I go to Blackpool, to the ever-helpful Revenue Commisioners. I had a grand chat for 20 minutes about getting a temporary cert (which couldn’t be done) followed by questions like, ‘would you go to Canada, or have you any friends in Australia?’ or, best of all, ‘any chance you can get a bit of value for me? I’m thinking of taking the early opt-out with a €250,000 payment and a pension of some €700 a week.’ That, my dear friends, is hard to listen to, when you are watching the euro coins in the shopping trollies at Aldi, and sleeping for 50 minute slots’ and atein’Rennies as though they were LSD.

But all is not lost. I ‘Sale Agreed’ a house for €45,000 to a smashing gentleman, straight out of a Martin McDonagh play, who proceeded to call in to the solicitor with two shopping bags of cash. The impressive part was the bags were Quinnsworth plastic bags, so how long has he kept them?

The solicitor naturally explained to the client that this amount of cash must be declared, and to come back with a draft. NOT. As if they have a chance of getting a ball of cash, and they are going to let that go?

That’s called the real world folks; or declare it? — that’s called stupidity.

You gotta say though, if these guys are buying maybe it’s time to get back in and OK, ol’ Pierce Brosnan still can’t sing (remember I’m tapping this out during Mamma Mia on the telly — who said men can’t multi-task?) but it hasn’t stopped my wife looking at him with the sound down. I realise auctioneers exist to make architects, car salesmen and publicans feel better, as at least they aren’t the worst hit.

Enda K. Best of luck getting recovery to happen from the Corrolla drivers. Renegotiate Croke Park in line with the levels of growth we are experiencing, and bring on the Insolvency Bill asap because, like it or not, we the gamblers are the ones who are going to save this mighty country and no, FR Loran Properties are not moving to Canada.