It's official. New research shows that many more of us than might want to admit it, are obsessed with property. This is hardly surprising, as the hits on property portals show when compared with the number of visitors to your average mobile library.
Having been the one selling for more times than I dare to count, the one hardly daring to make toast because of crumbs, the one hugely relieved when youngest child developed a high temperature on a viewing day because he couldn't make a mess while in bed (though boy did he wrinkle that duvet), the one draining the national grid by leaving strategically placed ambient lights on all day for weeks, just in case the estate agent popped in, I'm disappointed that pepople admit to viewing properties for the fun of it.
I've viewed a great many properties in my time, but never without genuinely believing that I might buy them. So I think it's time we honest property addicts take a stand against the nosy brick-tease.
We'll insist on appointments at antisocial times, we'll look in the cupboards where they've hidden all their detritis and remark loudly on the contents, we'll repeatedly flush the toilet, just to test the plumbing, and we'll let our children play with their kids' toys, and lose the bits down gaps in the floor boards. Then, after overstaying our appointment, we'll announce in an offended tone that we weren't really looking for a house/flat/lighthouse, or whatever type of property we're viewing.
And, as for those pitiful creatures who admitted in the survey that they view properties to get design ideas for their own homes, we'll sign them up for a course of therapy on the NHS and a lifetime subscription to Elle Deco. If you'd witnessed the crimes against taste in some of the homes I've viewed, the stone-clad home cocktail bar, the Moorish domed artex ceiling, the Tudor-style double glazing on a Victorian semi, you'd agree it's the least we can do.