I don’t give out the number to many people as there is a Sods’ Law tendency for everybody to phone me during showings. Lesley phones me during a particularly upmarket showing of a palatial pile near Cottingham being viewed by a couple of stupidly tetchy people in their fifties who, if they didn’t invent the word ‘pernickety’, certainly hold significant shares in the global rights alongside a bunch of other people it has been my pleasure to entertain like a sultan’s eunuch since I got this job. The trouble is that they don’t think they are merely human and they don’t think that I am a fully-functioning human being either. They treat me like I am some seedy dolt sent along by the agency to mess up their day by speaking when I am not being spoken to, being on the phone when they want to talk to me, and not knowing all the details of the house off by heart when I have never seen the bloody place before. “Jake Pembleton …..” “What the fuck are you doing?”
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