Foskett's Day (April 2003)

Tuesday 14th  
8.15 am

The good news: four potential tenancies arranged yesterday.  The bad news: a mass of follow-up paperwork to be done, hence my early arrival at the office.  I need peace and quiet to dictate letters to referees, phoning for credit checks, confirming terms to the new tenants, etc.  So, naturally, there are five messages on the answering machine, and the phone is ringing before I've got my coat off.  'Was it very wet and windy last night'  I ask myself, 'enough to cause structural damage, leaks, trees down, any of that sort of thing?'  No, just an average April night so no reason to expect emergency calls; so what the hell's it all about?
 
Against my better judgment, I pick up the phone.  'Peter Foskett' I say.  None of your 'Foskett Property Management and Letting, Peter speaking, how may I help you?' crap.  Having to chant that sort of mantra 48 times a day contributed in large measure to my leaving 'The Firm' and setting up on my own.  Nobody here to 'train' me in personal communications, so they can tick another box on their blasted Investors in People or Quality Assured forms.   I know how to be polite and businesslike on the phone, and in English; I didn't, still don't, need an Americanising makeover.

'Oh Mr Foskett, I'm so relieved to get hold of you' flutters the instantly recognisable voice on the other end;  I've been trying since 8 o'clock last night.'  So that explains the ansaphone messages; one 'crisis' rather than six then, thank the Lord.  But when they're all rolled up into a  mega-drama with Mrs Battersby, perhaps such thanks will proved misplaced.  This could take all day.

'Good morning Mrs Battersby' I say, in my most soothing tone, hoping the tongue in my cheek can't be heard down the phone line.  'I'm so sorry; I popped home for a meal and a few hours sleep, but I'm back now.  What's the problem?  I do hope that naughty cat from number 9 hasn't been making your life a misery again?'

'Oh no, Mr Foskett' replies my oldest, that's to say longest serving, tenant.  I inherited Mrs B. from my predecessor; she was one of the liabilities he failed to disclose.

'No, it's good news this time.  I've won a month's holiday in Ibiza, leaving on Monday, and I wanted to sort out with you about paying next month's rent while I'm away, and security here, and...'

On she burbled happily for five minutes more, while I smile equally happily to myself.  I can look forward to a nice quiet few weeks while Mrs B's letting it all hang out on her island in the sun (banish that thought IMMEDIATELY; it is deeply disturbing!)  But at least now I can get on with a normal day's work, if there is such a thing in this game.