Читать книгу William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story - Matt Rudd - Страница 45

Three estate agents come round to do flat valuation. Needed a shower afterwards. However much I scrubbed, I still felt dirty.

‘Mr Walker. Hi, Arthur Arthurs from Arthurs’ Arseholes.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Arthur Arthurs from Arthurs & Sons. For the valuation. Pleasure. May I? Lovely, lovely hallway. Mmm, yes, oh, lovely carpets. Neutral. Perfect.’

‘This is the only bedroom.’

‘Oh gorgeous, the space, the light, the scope, the movement.’ He’s a stamp collector who’s discovered a penny black, an art collector who’s tripped over a Rembrandt in the attic, the first archaeologist at Sutton bloody Hoo.

‘Look at this kitchen, will you? Just look at it. Look at this well-appointed, well-equipped, well-planned little minx of a kitchen.’

It’s a tiny kitchen in a tiny flat on the wrong side of Finsbury Park that he may have to sell at the height of a property-market crash but he’s excited.

‘Oh yes, the walls. Oh yes, the marble surfaces. Oh yes, the hood, the hood, the hood. Mmmm, lovely. The toilet! Aarrrrhhhh. Ooooooh. Bidet. Smooth. Simple. Soft. You cheeky bidet. You halogen lighting. You naughty, naughty power shower.’

He was the least repellent of the three. And suggested the highest selling price.