Equity Release

I had been to the bungalow before.

In fact, when I had seen the familiar address in my work diary I checked back through my records and this would be my third visit over a nine year period. I remembered it well. Two fields away and rapidly reducing from the crumbling cliff top on the east coast.

My inspections were for the purpose of reporting back to a Finance Company with whom the owner occupier had taken out an Equity Release product, a form of loan secured on the property, usually to provide a supplementary income to their existing private pension and interest earned from savings and other investments.

This type of product had been aggresively sold in the 1980's when clearly inappropriate in some cases and had subsequently come under the scrutiny of the Financial Services Authority, consumer watchdogs and the media. Those who had been persuaded to sign an agreement must now have felt a bit misled and betrayed by a smooth talking salesperson whom they had initially welcomed into their homes as the advocate for a potential solution to an income shortfall.

Controversy and shennanigans aside I had developed, in a 30 minute visit every 3 years, therefore amounting to one and a half hours nearly every decade, a form of friendship with the elderly individuals and couples under such schemes. I remembered each and every such visit clearly and easily recalled previous circumstances and situations of calling around.

It was often the case with memory in advancing years that the occupiers had no recollection of who I was, which was a bit sad. It also became apparent to me that the longer the burgeoning policy had run, the more aggressive and dismissive towards me I found my long term acquaintances.

I did find it upsetting when subsequent instructions to carry out an inspection were no longer in joint names as one of the partners had passed away at some time in the preceeding three year period. The loss of a long term spouse clearly had a huge impact on emotions, motivation and day to day living for the surviving one of the relationship. My arrival after a bereavement did sometimes cause some distress, not from my personal demeanour I hope, but in awakening memories of happier times when I had tried to spend a little more time than my diarised  slot to enjoy the company of and listen to the interesting stories and experiences of my elders. Always a rewarding and humbling event for someone of my generation.

I was therefore a bit distressed when, nine years into my friendship with the almost cliff edge bungalow dweller ,I found myself being followed around by a surly bloke with a video camera recording my every move.

I should have been alerted to quite a different welcome by the attitude of indifference and hostility from my host as he opened his front door. I was told plainly and with no ambiguity that I was attending at the time of a long running dispute with the Finance Company and was allowed access only because legal action had been threatened if I was prevented or obstructed from carrying out my work.

The cameraman struggled to keep up with me under the weight on his right shoulder of what , some 20 years ago would have represented the cutting edge of video equipment but would now have an equivalent in a handy palm held wonder.

I tried to engage him in conversation, or more of a running commentary of what I was doing ,but he was obviously an exponent of the silent film genre. Out of sheer badness I did a few laps of the bungalow, with frequent stops and backtracking supposedly to study a piece of gutter, wall, window frame and path. The large and irregularly bulbous  shadow of the one man film crew was never far behind but flagging.

For the first time in the nine years since my first inspection I actually walked all the boundaries and then stared wistfully, as though it was the money shot, over the open fields which stretched into the distance beyond the back fence.

I was, in my moments of artistic contemplation,  making a few assumptions as to the recording capacity of the video cassette being used and also the remaining battery power although the size of the camera suggested an energy source large enough to sustain a small village.

At all times in my 30 minute and  very theatrical performance I remained polite, factual and the perfect professional even when attempts were made to implicate me in the dispute through the posing of heavily loaded questions. I mimicked a gracious bow at the front gate before half running back to my car and leaving. I doubt, sincerely, that I received any applause or ovations.

I smiled to myself at the thought of the subsequent playback of the video which would certainly resemble a cross between a juddery, erratic live broadcast from a war zone and a video nasty. Perhaps I should just run a broad search criteria through You Tube just in case my antics have gone global and viral.