Michaela
Michaela is more careful about showing off her tattoo since being promoted from receptionist, although the fake tan has sadly dulled it anyway. She has also splashed out on a couple of Next suits. Michaela would like to live in every property she shows and she tells you. Sadly this is just a pipe dream since boyfriend Gaz got made redundant from Kwik-Fit. Still, his Grandma is ill and she’s got a lovely retirement bungalow in Hastings so all is not lost. Michaela has Heart.

Catchphrase: It’s alright for some.
Likes: Loose Women
Dislikes: Anyone above ‘emselves.

Foxy
Foxy looks great in his House of Fraser suit and wears his pointy D&G shoes with pride, particularly as he got a right deal at TK Maxx. Foxy is driven to sell, partly because he is on £8k a year basic and a shared flat in Clapham don’t come cheap. Partly because if he doesn’t he knows he’ll have to stand on a table at the morning meeting and recite ‘I am aa tosser’ while his colleagues/enemies jeer and spray him with Perrier. If an unknown number comes up between 8am and 12pm it will be Foxy – ‘calling out’. No matter you found 12 months ago, he was just checking you were happy in it because if you need to sell….

Catchphrase: If you throw enough shit..
Likes:  His database.
Dislikes: Loooo-sers.

Christine

She looks Mumsy but she has seen it all and let me tell you, it was all negative then and it’s no bloody better now. The only people she likes are her son, ( adopted because ‘her husband’s even bloody useless at that) and the Manager and district Manager, who she bakes cakes for. Those young bloody negs in the office are a constant irritant and they ain’t picking up the phone first or getting their bleeding fingers on her applicant list if she has anything to do with it. They can do her viewings though.  Christine only likes buyers who are male,  middle class and flirt with her. Do not bring children, that steel eyed stare will cause them nightmares.

Catchphrase: I spoke to that applicant first.
Likes: Strictly Come Dancing
Dislikes: People.

Dave
Dave is to be found in his one man office above Greggs offering 1% deals. ‘It’s all about volume innit. Pile ‘em high and sell ‘em cheap didn’t do Tesco’s any harm did it?!’
Dave is a bit stressed quite a bit of the time because he isn’t piling them high and frankly he’s not selling ‘em neever.
You can find the Greater Spotty Dave on Rightmove. His properties have the toilet seats up and the washing up takes centre stage. If you look even closer, there he is complete with flash in the bathroom mirror.
Dave drives an Astra but he really, really Aspires to a Vectra.

Catchphrase: I just want to offer punters value for money.
Likes:Greggs sausage rolls and Boots meal deals.
Dislikes: Any Estate Agent with a listing.

Sheila
To be found in the shires, Sheila is upper middle class and upper middle aged with hair sprayed so hard you wouldn’t get through it with a toffee hammer. Particular specialties are equestrian property and being scary. Expect the Spanish Inquisition if you try to book a viewing, for ease of passage change your name to Camilla, honk a lot and have equine worming tablets visible in your handbag.

Catchphrase: If Daddy hadn’t lost on Lloyds I wouldn’t be here.
Likes: Princess Anne
Dislikes: Commoners.

Rupert
You didn’t think I’d miss him out did you?
The older Rupert wasn’t quite bright enough to go to University but young men from frightfully good families do need a profession with a business card and the City was picky back then. The younger ones have Land Management degrees from St Andrews, Durham and of course Cirencester. Dead handy because they never know if Papa might pop his clogs and they’ll have to take the reins at the family large-holding.
Never try jokes or irony with a Rupert – they won’t get it. However, they ‘won’t get it’ with the most impeccable manners.

Catchphrase: Do you play Rugger?
Likes: A bloody good pheasant shoot
Dislikes: Being called an Estate Agent.

So, clearly these character are not based on anyone living or dead and bear no resemblance to any Estate Agent I have met in the course of my daily life. In fact I shall go as far as saying that I have made it all up. In fact all Estate Agents are made of sugar and spice and stop for hedgehogs crossing the road. Apart from Rupert, who shoots them.

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Tanya Powley then goes on to write a blog about the subject – it is a very good read:

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You may need to register to read the FT articles – but it is free

Average UK house prices are of course a misnomer. There is no such thing as one UK property market, comparing Hull with Hampstead is a non-starter and this survey needs to be taken with a large pinch of salt and a good look at the detail. This detail shows an increasing North/South divide and that transactions are focussed on the more wealthy. One must also bear in mind that these statistics are only based on one month of Nationwide’s lending. They do not let us into the number of transactions this is extrapolated from and it could be very few properties indeed. As the adage warns, Lies, damned lies and statistics.. make your own mind up with the report linked below and the Guardian and Citywire articles in which we are quoted significantly.

Nationwide survey: http://www.nationwide.co.uk/hpi/historical/Oct_2011.pdf

http://www.guardian.co.uk/money/2011/nov/01/house-prices-surprise-rise

http://citywire.co.uk/money/house-prices-still-treading-water-says-nationwide/a538050

Coming off the M3 and through leafy Surrey lanes the ‘moneyed quotient’ builds up quickly, until I reach Kingswood. A village with pubs and Trattorias where you know there’s a fat old Italian in charge and the lasagne will come out sizzling. There’s a little train station with a Regency style veranda which belongs in Midsomer murders. Surprisingly sweet. I turn into the private lane, I know it’s private because it says so, a lot. Houses are tucked behind laurel hedges and gates. There are speed bumps and people amble down the middle of the road walking their dogs and smelling rich. They eye me up, ‘I should have washed the car’ goes through my mind, it’s that sort of place- although I doubt any of them use a bucket like me. Hmm, it’s rather smart.

I roll up to the gates of the two home development, through one set and then have to wait for those to close before the next set open. Nice security for Russians I think, no getting shot on the doorstep. I could see Cheryl Cole safely distanced from her fans here and the poor love could keep Ashley at a 50m distance. I purr into the bricked drive and again am miffed that my filthy country living 4×4 sits like something the dog left on the drive.

Norma is waiting for me. Norma is terribly posh and glamorous but I catch a glint of a Liverpool accent so I suspect hidden depths. I am granted an entrance and she wins major praise immediately. No blue plastic bags on my shoes today – that’s how you treat people, Mr Candy!

Into the hall and my, what a hall. It is a ‘receiving hall’. Scarlet and Rhett could swan down that curved walnut staircase quite comfortably. There is marble, lots of it and silver and crystal things gleaming. I avert my eyes from the 666-esque silver antelope skull. A tad too Omen like for comfort. But I can imagine little French waitresses with canape spread silver platters greeting guests and that I suppose is the point of a ‘receiving hall’.

We have over 8000 square feet to explore and start at the back staircase- I do love a house with ‘a back staircase’. This leads to the room above the triple garage and we pass the ‘gardeners toilet’ en route. Well you wouldn’t want tradesmen using your facilities now would you?!
A lovely room where Mr can run his multi-million pound businesses or Mrs can discuss her latest record release and spurn Simon Cowell’s apologies.

I want to see the kitchen. Women generally choose the house and that’s what they want to see first too. Bright, big, central island, family dining and family lounging with a large plasma screened family room next door. Unconvinced about the dining chairs with handcuffs on the back but hey ho, each to their own.

The sitting room is grey and silver, glittery yet calm. A fine place for discussing your golf scores with neighbours. I check the skirting boards, one of my tests for whether builders ‘give a damn’. The house passes the test in the reception rooms, they are deep and meticulously painted.  However, I shall be eyeing them everywhere. Woe betide they have whacked some two by four’s in somewhere.

We take the staircase from the hall to the basement. I am rather partial to basements, having lived in the U.S. It’s a dumping ground for teenagers, au pairs and blokes wanting to do blokey things. The residential equivalent of a ‘man drawer’. Buyers at this level expect them. It does not disappoint. The cinema room is bathed in black with leather cinema chairs that would not be out of place in a Hollywood private viewing suite.
Norma gets out her iPad and starts doing techy things with blu-ray and things I’ve never heard of. From the iPad she manages the lighting, the film showing on the massive screen and the sound. Apparently she can also ‘run the house’ from it too. Norma has hidden talents. Mine is mainly used for Angry Birds. I compliment Norma on her technical prowess. ‘Not really’ she says, ‘had one awful incident where I referred to the sound system as having woofters’.

There is a gym, a maid’s room fit for a royal lady in waiting, a wine room and a games room with full sized snooker table, bar and helpful access to a patio with BBQ. This basement says you’ll never see your husband again. Maybe Cheryl would be safe letting Ashley in after all. Oh and it has my favourite thing ever- a laundry chute. No carrying your dirty undies down the stairs, just whack them down the chute upstairs and they plop into the washing machine… Just make sure you hide the cat from the kids.

The boiler room is fun- not something you often hear me say. The biggest tanks you ever did see and ‘apparently’ they have air-source/eco/pump/heat sourcing summat.. which ‘apparently’ is a VERY good thing.

Up to the first floor, where the master bedroom overlooks the grounds (not garden at this level). Terribly glam it is too. 

I love top floors almost as much as I love basements, so I am keen to investigate. While the bloke is in the basement the kids are up there. The perfect mother house and the designers have had some fun. There is a boudoir for the teenage daughter up here, dressed up like a Moulin Rouge set.

Then there is the ‘kids room’ where they have done away with glitzy accessories. Here we have rusted tables, wipe clean squidgy leather sofas (essential for teenager’s but best not to dwell on why) and floor cushions. You would never see your teenagers again- ‘cos this room is seriously ‘dead cool’. ‘Obviously’ I refuse to acknowledge the Union Jack cushions other than with a clinched smirk.

I settle down with Norma and some Duchy Original biscuits at the kitchen island.  Norma is very proud of her show house and very proud of Banner’s presence in this end of the market. She seems keen to get my ‘take’ because it is well documented that this is Banner Homes’ biggest show home ever.  Well the location is right, which is 90% of the battle – private road, laurel hedges, security gates and the ‘right sort of people’. Or as my clients say to me sheepishly ‘people like us’.

And key to it all is that the quality of this house is no different from that ‘big name’ being built three doors down- but there is a difference in price. I like that, it’s my job to get my clients the best property but also the best deal. I know which one I’d be advising my clients to put their money down on.

Norma, asks me again what I think.

‘Oh, Norma’ I say, ‘it works… no gold taps and those skirting boards in the basement were FABULOUS’.

Banner Homes- Regency Gate

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Tracy Kellett

Very often with oversea’s clients there are cultural differences which need to be taken into account and managed. Tracy will cover these topic’s but will also give an amusing account of some of the ‘situations’ she has found herself in.. always with complete discretion, because of course, that is the first rule of the job.

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