Saturday 13 August 2011

Never trust an Irishman called...

Ahharrrr me Hearties. 'Ere be a picture of Dad scrambling up the 'ratlines' (pronounced rattlins) on SB Cambria when they were our racing on the Swale the other day. He's gone aloft with the new camera to try to get some pictures down to the deck from up there. Impressive huh?

Meanwhile Mum is running around muttering "Never trust an Irishman named Charlie". She's thinking of C Haughey (ex Taoiseach / Prime Minister) but it may equally apply to our Estate Agent, Charlie McD. Mum and Dad have just lost out in a mini bidding war for the house-of-choice on which they'd put in a bid yesterday morning. The rival bidder is, they know, the bloke who owns the neighbouring property as a holiday home. There is also, according to Charlie, a mystery 3rd bidder who looked round the property on Friday and will let Charlie know either Monday or Tuesday.

Mum and Dad want to know where all this interest has suddenly come from on a property that's been vacant for a year and in which there's been no interest till we suddenly popped our heads over the parapet. Anyway, the rival outbid us by £2500, so we went back with another £2500 but hit our limit at that point. The guy snuck on another £1000 and, as they say, you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em. We folded and told Charlie that should anything happen to Mr Rival we'd be interested in coming back in. So that was that. Dad texted Mrs S to get her back on the internet searches and Mum and Dad are looking harder at the Plan B property (the one with the lovely farm outbuildings I Lily posted about a few days back.


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