If I told you to picture a stereotypical British Real Estate Agent, you would come up with the exact image of James Pearce, Lettings Negociator (that's what it says on his business card). First time we met him he was sporting a dark blue, perfectly fitted checkered suit with a pink and blue striped wide tie, tied perfectly. The pomade in his hair kept it firmly gelled in place, and you could tell that even the few hairs that were slightly unkempt had been placed there on purpose. Upon meeting him on subsequent days this was proven to be true. He talked fast, repeated his main points several times a minute, and on the first day mentioned he has been so busy he didn't "even have time for a cup of tea and a fag," and then gave us a toothy grin and chuckled to himself. He's one of those people who's so charming and so sleazy that you can never tell if he's the good guy or the bad guy. That's who we were dealing with.
Sparing all the horrific details, he's our realtor and we now have the best flat ever, in the nicest part of London, ten minute walk away from school, with a garden and free wireless. I'm skipping over the week of hell we endured in looking at flats all over the various ghettos of London and almost falling short of paying for the place we have now. Well, as James said to us (numerous times) we deserve several pints for our efforts.
That's it. Don't worry, future blog posts will be funnier and less informative, because I know that's what the people want.
Cheers,
Adam
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