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Entry tags:
Dichotomies
Amazing, the parental dichotomy here.
I spend Saturday with my mother. She's exhausted and it's pissing it down all day, but we still contrive to have a good natter, accidentally go to three shopping malls* and just possibly find me a house.
*Had lunch in one, got lost in another, looked at furniture in a third, bought nothing... it's a long story. Her long-standing feud with the sat-nav was briefly involved.
I spend two hours on Sunday with my father. I alternate between being ignored and talked at. It's apparently a massive gift on his part to not cook my vegetables (seriously, it's less work on your part, what is the problem). I have to explain everything five times because he won't bloody listen. And now I'm on the verge of tears. Again.
One to ensure I know I'm special, one to ensure I know I'm worthless. Is this what well-balanced parenting is meant to mean? And why can't I be living with the good cop?
Still! Houses and mortgages and grown-up stuff, oh my.
I've been vaguely looking for houses of a while, mostly just talking to financial advisors and estate agents in random areas. It's actually getting serious now.
Something to bear in mind: I'm twenty-four but look about sixteen. I regularly get carded, even for things that don't require carding.
I went to talk to my bank about a mortgage. The Nice Lady on the help desk looked at me and went, "A mortgage?!" as though this was the most ridiculous thing in the world. The Nice Lady who talked to me about mortgage advice talked to me as though I was very young and very ignorant, and gave me no useful advice whatsoever. My bank will not be handling my mortgage, as they clearly do not want my custom.
Last week, I went a-wandering up to Essex to keep an appointment with an estate agency which turned out to be so sleazy that I might make its employees villains in something. I'm fairly sure that if I was less sure of myself, I'd have walked myself straight into an impossibly high repayment rate and all sorts of nasty side-effects thereof... long story short, the agent gave me a bumf pack for a house miles out of my price range, then the financial advisor (+ sit-in 'student', both middle-aged men) assumed I was seriously interested in it and started throwing out the worst possible options for any first-time mortgage, in the form of interest-only (eww) and, in a stunning twist, 'Why don't you get your mum to remortgage her flat?'. With bonus condescending budget analysis mansplanation!
He had me suspicious at the five minute reassurance of his independence, edging away at the cheery assumption that I wanted something out of my price range, backing away at interest-only mortgages and running a mile at putting my mother's financial security in jeopardy as well as my own. I guess there are some advantages to being a twenty-four-year-old single woman who looks sixteen and has (apparently) an incredible poker face, because I'm fairly sure the arrogant prat didn't even realise he'd lost me as he was saying goodbye.
Should I have corrected his initial mistake? Perhaps, but I'm glad I didn't. My sleaze senses were tingling before I even got into his office, and he set them off more and more. Now I know just how far he was willing to push me, and I'm disgusted with him. (I'm also not convinced it was a mistake; I wouldn't be surprised to learn that I was being set up. Young single women are easy touches, after all.)
There was a Haart next door, so I went in there once I was done. And may I just say, it's been a pleasure so far.
Even when I first went in, unaccompanied and about five minutes before closing time, they treated me like an adult. The man I was talking to not only respected the price range I gave him, but found something that might just be perfect - within those five minutes before closing time. And when I spoke to their financial advisor this week, he gave genuinely sensible advice. I don't think he would have given me different advice if my mum hadn't been there, either.
As for this place they found - it's too early to be sure, but I may have just got very lucky. When the estate agent gave me the bumf, the place was being held for somebody else, but he suspected - correctly - that it'd fall through. (It's got a new lease, and while they were waiting for it to be drawn up the chain collapsed.) The size is perfect. The price... is within my projected range, although that may drop based on how much I need to do to the kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen is sans appliances and avec polystyrene ceiling tiles, whereas the bathroom is outfitted for a wheelchair-user and would need a proper bath installed The building looked structurally sound and has been surveyed regularly, since it was previously owned by a housing charity.
I have a Good Feeling and I must crush it ruthlessly. So I'm taking my dad along next weekend.
Okay, that's not entirely fair on him, the reason I'm taking him along is that he's an engineer and he'll be able to tell me how much really needs doing to it. But that does basically boil down to YOU, PLEASE NITPICK MY LIFE SOME MORE, so...
I have book reviews piling up. I should do something about those.
I spend Saturday with my mother. She's exhausted and it's pissing it down all day, but we still contrive to have a good natter, accidentally go to three shopping malls* and just possibly find me a house.
*Had lunch in one, got lost in another, looked at furniture in a third, bought nothing... it's a long story. Her long-standing feud with the sat-nav was briefly involved.
I spend two hours on Sunday with my father. I alternate between being ignored and talked at. It's apparently a massive gift on his part to not cook my vegetables (seriously, it's less work on your part, what is the problem). I have to explain everything five times because he won't bloody listen. And now I'm on the verge of tears. Again.
One to ensure I know I'm special, one to ensure I know I'm worthless. Is this what well-balanced parenting is meant to mean? And why can't I be living with the good cop?
Still! Houses and mortgages and grown-up stuff, oh my.
I've been vaguely looking for houses of a while, mostly just talking to financial advisors and estate agents in random areas. It's actually getting serious now.
Something to bear in mind: I'm twenty-four but look about sixteen. I regularly get carded, even for things that don't require carding.
I went to talk to my bank about a mortgage. The Nice Lady on the help desk looked at me and went, "A mortgage?!" as though this was the most ridiculous thing in the world. The Nice Lady who talked to me about mortgage advice talked to me as though I was very young and very ignorant, and gave me no useful advice whatsoever. My bank will not be handling my mortgage, as they clearly do not want my custom.
Last week, I went a-wandering up to Essex to keep an appointment with an estate agency which turned out to be so sleazy that I might make its employees villains in something. I'm fairly sure that if I was less sure of myself, I'd have walked myself straight into an impossibly high repayment rate and all sorts of nasty side-effects thereof... long story short, the agent gave me a bumf pack for a house miles out of my price range, then the financial advisor (+ sit-in 'student', both middle-aged men) assumed I was seriously interested in it and started throwing out the worst possible options for any first-time mortgage, in the form of interest-only (eww) and, in a stunning twist, 'Why don't you get your mum to remortgage her flat?'. With bonus condescending budget analysis mansplanation!
He had me suspicious at the five minute reassurance of his independence, edging away at the cheery assumption that I wanted something out of my price range, backing away at interest-only mortgages and running a mile at putting my mother's financial security in jeopardy as well as my own. I guess there are some advantages to being a twenty-four-year-old single woman who looks sixteen and has (apparently) an incredible poker face, because I'm fairly sure the arrogant prat didn't even realise he'd lost me as he was saying goodbye.
Should I have corrected his initial mistake? Perhaps, but I'm glad I didn't. My sleaze senses were tingling before I even got into his office, and he set them off more and more. Now I know just how far he was willing to push me, and I'm disgusted with him. (I'm also not convinced it was a mistake; I wouldn't be surprised to learn that I was being set up. Young single women are easy touches, after all.)
There was a Haart next door, so I went in there once I was done. And may I just say, it's been a pleasure so far.
Even when I first went in, unaccompanied and about five minutes before closing time, they treated me like an adult. The man I was talking to not only respected the price range I gave him, but found something that might just be perfect - within those five minutes before closing time. And when I spoke to their financial advisor this week, he gave genuinely sensible advice. I don't think he would have given me different advice if my mum hadn't been there, either.
As for this place they found - it's too early to be sure, but I may have just got very lucky. When the estate agent gave me the bumf, the place was being held for somebody else, but he suspected - correctly - that it'd fall through. (It's got a new lease, and while they were waiting for it to be drawn up the chain collapsed.) The size is perfect. The price... is within my projected range, although that may drop based on how much I need to do to the kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen is sans appliances and avec polystyrene ceiling tiles, whereas the bathroom is outfitted for a wheelchair-user and would need a proper bath installed The building looked structurally sound and has been surveyed regularly, since it was previously owned by a housing charity.
I have a Good Feeling and I must crush it ruthlessly. So I'm taking my dad along next weekend.
Okay, that's not entirely fair on him, the reason I'm taking him along is that he's an engineer and he'll be able to tell me how much really needs doing to it. But that does basically boil down to YOU, PLEASE NITPICK MY LIFE SOME MORE, so...
I have book reviews piling up. I should do something about those.
no subject
+sighs+ I still, on my good days, hit the age thing, for dressing in jeans and tee-shirts. Not so much now I cut my hair and don't ruck it into odd ponytails...
Best of luck!