Selling a house is a pain in the arse - 37 days

OK, I'm not telling you anything you don't already know here, but selling a house is soul destroying. Not just for the obvious reasons, but it's one of those things that encourages people to dust of the clichés and shoot you point blank in the face with their unwanted advice.

ha, fucking ha.

The worst statement to be spawned in the last two years is "in the current economic climate". Worse than just hearing this term being blurted out at every opportunity was when it came from someone reminding me that selling a house in this "climate" isn't easy. Really? You're telling me that? What, how would I know anything about the CEC, I'm only selling a fucking house! A house that doubled in value between 2003 and 2008, and plummeted 50% in the following year.

The housing market was the last concern on our minds when we decided to move to the USA. When we made the decision in late 2008 our only concern was getting rid of the property, paying off the mortgage and some other debt, and having a wee bit left over to help us settle.

We spent the early part of 2009 getting the house ready, which mainly consisted of throwing out a ridiculous amount of shit. I also painted the entire house. I hate painting. Then we got to interview estate agents, and we chose to go with the least slimy. It's like choosing which bollock to get kicked in.

So by this time (June 2009) we had the visa petition approved, the house finished, and an estate agent all but chosen. I took a week off work to finish all the bits and pieces, and my employer of 7 years decided that it was best to make me redundant during this week. My first thought was, FUCK! this has fucked up everyfucking thing. Then I read my conditions of employment, particularly the but about redundancy payments and I suddenly realised that if I sold my house within 5 months, I'd make a bloody profit from getting paid off!

By the time I returned to shithole that was my office, the for sale signs were up and I was making everyone at work pretty uncomfortable with my calmness. I did take the redundancy pretty well, and as a result managed to eek out an extra months work and a wee bit extra in the pay off. It was also nice to know that after several failed attempts at leaving I was really going to see the back of that place. Oh, that and the fact that my services were snapped up almost as soon as an ex-colleague found out about my impending availability - to take over the job of the person who's job I had taken over in the post I was in at the time.

That first couple of months was pretty cool. We had a good few viewings, all hosted by my lovely wife whilst I took the dogs away somewhere, trying to time my return to pass the viewers on their way back to the car. It was the third viewing (I think) that yielded our first offer, which after some petty negotiation on my part was accepted. I felt conflicted. On one hand we had all but sold our house, on the other I was wondering if the painting I did the weekend before had been really necessary.

We even signed the papers at the (overconfident) solicitors, and all we had to wait on was the missives being concluded. Fuck knows what that is, but we waited anyway, and waited, and waited. In the middle of the waiting it was decided that Cassie, Davie and the dogs should leave ahead of me, and soon, as Cassie's Grandmother was in a bad way and really needed to be looked after. So the tickets were booked and we waited, and waited. I called the solicitor to see what was going on and he said it's just some formalities on the buyers end.

Those formalities were a mortgage. A mortgage they weren't going to get, despite claims that thy already had one in place to make the offer. This was a bad time, particularly since we were now into October and the start of shittywinter 2009, making re-marketing the house a total bitch. But we re-marketed and a steady trickle of viewers came and went, but by November 3rd the family flew away with the house still on the market.

We only had a handful of viewers between then and January, when I became a US permanent resident. One of them was promising. On my way home from my visa interview, when optimism was at a high, I was informed that my last viewer was really interested and wanted to have another look. Holy fuck, I thought, maybe a bit of luck had come my way.

So the next day the viewers came round and were really nice, and very keen, and followed up with an offer the next day. A pish offer. An absolutely insulting offer. Their reason for such pishness was, "we want to keep some money back for a conservatory". Eh? A conservatory? In Hallglen? How about you keep your money and install some spoilers on a Reliant Robin.

Conservatory

Moving on, and after visiting the states to activate my greencard I decided to change estate agent. In a pretty candid admission that hey were hopeless, my current EA let me sever ties with them for no charge, and I then chose to interview some more slimeballs, this time going for someone a bit more dickish to see if maybe being a bit more pushy would work. It sort of did, because viewers were coming in more regularly, but offers still weren't forthcoming. One guy decided to trot out the "economic climate" line as he came in the door, and ruled himself out of the running. Desperation doesn't mean I will sell to dicks.

Prices were dropped, doors were painted, and suddenly it was June, and I was visiting the US again to keep my sanity intact. Once more the glimmer of hope appeared in another viewer who wanted a second look. So far 2 viewings had equalled an offer, so I was pretty optimistic, and hey presto, another offer winged its way to me. It was lower than Mother Theresa's tits.

After giving them the fuck off I was left pretty much despondent. I was stuck in the UK until the house was sold  but was running the risk of losing my greencard if I didn't settle stateside soon.

Then the meeting which was heard across the ocean  (like the shot heard around the world, but with minutes and coffee) happened. In a chat with my boss he asked how the move was going and when I gave him the lowdown he uttered the second worst statement from the Fox house selling era "have you thought about renting it out?"


*****Have I thought about renting? I have thought about everyfuckingthing, all I do is fucking think, I think about thinking, I plan scenarios for scenario planning, after a year of being away from your family all you have to do is bloody think, and drink and play darts, but yes, I had thought about renting******

I couldn't fire off the usual sarcastic response to my boss, so I just told him the truth, I couldn't risk renting out when I had no employment in the USA, and then being burdened with a mortgage payment if I couldn't get a tenant. Then he quite matter of factly said "well, you could keep working for us once you go".....and within a month (and some more fucking painting) the letting agent was selected.

The house was official up for let for one day, and a tenant was found. Piece of fucking piss.

Now, it seems that my approach to emigrating has had some folk confused. It seems that just pissing off, leaving the house, the bills, the credit cards and the like would have been the popular choice amongst those who thought that I was choosing not to move. It seems that some may believe that getting the family to move ahead of me was a dumb move.  Had Cassie not moved ahead, she wouldn't have been there to comfort her gran in her final days, or to support her grandpa in his grief. For this alone, them moving ahead of me was absolutely the right thing to do.

As for the rest, it's not as if I'm hanging around here to make a few quid. I've never stood to make anything from the house sale. In fact, there was a good chance that I could have been left with debt after a sale. Leaving it all behind is also tempting, but not exactly clever, and sound more like a fuck up than a plan.

So I now have 36 days of posts to go, and god knows what I'm going to fill that with.