Saturday - one classic pair of Haringey wimmin health workers brought round by infant in winklepickers. Oh so perfect for my street. If only my dear friend the psychodynamic psychotherapist directly opposite had not finally removed her punchy 'Save the NHS from even more cuts' placard from the window, the wimmin might have put in an even better offer.
Monday - they made a generous offer, 9am. I was wholly oblivious [thank you Virgin mobile] until my agent called the landline 10 hours later.
Tuesday - he'll try to nudge them up a few quid. He's very happy; hadn't even had time to measure the garden or print up my details. This is all looking so simple, isn't it? Hm.
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