One of the joys of spring is my annual nose around other people’s houses. Or it used to be. It seems things have changed in the house-hunting world. Estate agency has become automated.
I had spotted a nice three-bedroomed place near Tooting Common and had rung the agent to ask them to show me round.
‘Are you registered with us?’ said the perky voice at the other end, sounding suspiciously like a call centre operative. There then followed an inquisition I can only liken to getting through security at Tel Aviv airport when you’ve got a stamp on your passport from Iran.
It started with the utterly baffling question: ‘Why are you looking to move house?’ Why? I can get my head round an estate agent asking me the what, how and when of my house-moving ambitions. But why? ‘Why do you need to know why?’ I asked, feeling the Kafkaesque red mist descending.
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