I sold my house last week, just before Easter. It had had actually gone up for auction a couple of weeks before and been passed in.
I remember that day well. It was warm. I got in the car to drive over and managed to cut myself pretty badly. I bled all over my shorts so by the time I got there I looked pretty dapper, if not fearsome. I was early that day. I walked up and down the street. I had lived in this joint for 10 years but felt not a shred of sentimentality. I didn’t even go inside to check it out – maybe I thought that was bad luck. I felt kind of wistful for the street though, which seemed pretty strange. It’s a beautiful street, broad and lined either side with Elm trees whose branches overhang the road. I’d walked up and down that road hundreds of times, maybe thousands, to and from work, to and from the local drag, Toorak road and Chapel street. It was a peaceful, warm, quiet day and I walked back towards my place in thongs and shorts covered in blood and a t-shirt looking nothing like a mogul, and feeling nothing like one either.
I sat and watched as the crowd gathered, sussing them out, figuring what they might bid and wondering what their story was – there were all types. Then the auctioneer came out. He’s a big man with pale blonde hair with one of those hearty smiling faces. He looked like a beefy English medium pacer retired to do media. He wore a flash suit naturally, he smiled and reassured me, piece of cake. Whatever, I thought.
I stood as the auction commenced and stood as nothing happened and stood still without having moved an inch when it was passed in without a bid. I hadn’t been nervous – I get nervous big time at some things, but this is not one of them. In some way I had already factored in this result, so when it happened I sort of nodded my head philosophically, fair cop.
I did wonder at the point of all this. What is it that brings people out to these auctions all keen and curious and then makes them mute when the action really begins. Good grief!
As it happens a couple of bidders came out of the woodwork once the metaphorical gavel fell. A few offers were made and put to me, at which I sneered. Tell him he’s dreamin’…
That was that. I was aware a critical period was now ahead of me. I had to sell the place pronto.
Then it all fell into place. Last week an offer was made. Yeah, it’s ok I thought, but see if you can squeeze more from him. Too my great surprise the real eastate agent squeezed another 14 grand from him. Sounds good I told her, but let’s do a quick ring around before signing on the dotted line – result: another 3 grand.
Where do I sign? And that was it. Signed, sealed, and as of tonight, delivered. All official and as of 45 days that joint that was all mine will be someone elses.
Good result, no complaints. Now I have to make my plans…