Sons and Fathers

I rattled another front door today. That makes two in the same week.

I am not sure if that constitutes a trend or just bad organisation.

Rattling occurs when I have, in my hand, a set of keys provided by the Selling Agents with which to gain access to a house for my survey work but yet they are useless because someone has left a key in the lock from the inside.

This could be down to two things.
1) The last person to leave the property did so through another exit after locking the front door. Safety conscious but annoying.
2) Someone still lives there.

Both cases this week were because of the latter.

 I did feel bad earlier in the week by rattling more out of frustration than practically necessary and this did both alarm and upset the elderly lady whose home it was. It did take some time for me to be alerted to the occupancy of the property because the lady had been on the telephone and not particularly bothered to break off from the conversation and see who was trying to get in by force.

All sorts of things cross your mind when keys do not work.
Did the sales staff at the estate agents hear me correctly when quoting the address?
Were the keys lotted up to coincide with the address?
Were they on the hook in the back room where they should be?

The variables that could affect the whole key hand-over process are many and all capable of inducing an error.

I did apologise most sincerely to the senior owner occupier of the first house but only after taking all practical measure to gain entry including trying to find another way in such as a foot passage to the rear or other right of way such as through a neighbouring garden. She was understandably frosty towards me until we both agreed that the selling agents should have done a lot more to clarify the arrangements.

We parted company with a mutually acceptable degree of indifference.

Today's repeat of the scenario in another location was disappointing.

I had picked up keys from a nice suburban office, trimmed up for Christmas and with pleasant staff. There was no mention of occupants and I took this to mean that the property, a small terraced house was vacant. Pulling up outside in an unusually traffic free street reinforced in my mind that all of the residents were out at work or a good proportion of the houses were empty.

Shiny keys often denote a change of locks with a repossession or where a tenant has been forcibly evicted. The set in my hand were brand new again suggesting a clear run for me.

Unfortunately the Yale lock did not yield to the branded key and I double checked my instruction sheet and the key fob for any particular reason why this was the case. After the fiasco earlier in the week my rattle of the door may have been a bit more heavy handed than necessary.

It was followed by the ominous sound of footsteps and the downward, opening movement of the door handle. Any potential awkwardness was defused by a cheery face and an acceptance that yes, I was expected and again, yes they had told the Agents that they might be in.

I was warmly welcomed by the couple who were tenants.

They were just getting ready to go to their work, both apparently role players at a Viking Tourist attraction. I vaguely recognised the twenty something male with a mental image, from regular visits to the aforementioned attraction of him clad in  a rough hair smock and carrying a sword and his female partner in hessian and carrying a swaddling encased doll in an animal skin pouch. I may have been completely mistaken but I liked the passing thought.

They left me to get on with my inspection but after a few minutes the man asked if I was a Chartered Surveyor.

I hardly ever get asked this question or even challenged as to my identity or the authenticity of my visit. People can be very trusting of someone in a business suit with a clipboard.

It turns out that the father of the man was in the same profession as me and was now close to retirement. Keen to establish if I knew the chap I asked the normal range of questions but the answers were a bit vague and blurry. I could not establish the location or sphere of activity of the man's father apart from he was self employed and covered a large geographical area.

I recounted how my own children, all now in their 20's, had regularly accompanied me when young, under duress mostly, on jobs as a compromise for their mother being at University or working and as a means to keep child care costs to a minimum. They do not recall so  much the merits of individual buildings and architectural styles but rather the sight of a three legged cat at a caravan factory, dead animals at an abattoir and the best selection of goodies at village shops throughout East Yorkshire.

The man at the house also remembered going to work with his Surveyor father but not much else.

I was necessarily thorough in my inspection including negotiation of a virtually inaccesible loft hatch. My attention to detail seemed to impress the tenants. I chatted a bit on general housing issues as the couple were actually looking to buy rather than be resigned to renting indefinitely and we got on famously.

Upon leaving there was a certain tone of regret in the voice of the male occupant in that he had no real idea about what his dad's job actually entailed. I like to think that, as I drove away, he had picked up the phone  to have a chat and to arrange, when next at home, a day out in a sort of son and father work experience session.