Oh, Abigail

Despite us not selling Trump's house anymore, it's still on the market, being sold by Bellend Homes - all part of the part ex deal.

Apparently, somebody has put an offer on it without even being round to do a viewing, but he's been pissing about, so the estate agents have started to market the house again (not that we realised they'd stopped doing).

And so it came to pass that sweet Abigail wanted to come and see the house. We did the usual thing; out of work a bit early, getting the house tidy and spick and span. Delayed tea until after the royal visit was due at 7pm. I took Rocky out for his constitutional to get His Bounciness out of the way of our viewer, while Trump stayed in and waited.

We wandered.

She waited.

We wandered a bit more, Rocky pood, he sniffed, he weed, he said hello to a few other pooches.

She waited, and waited.

We wandered... nope, the chippy's shut... back onto the field, more sniffing.

So at 7.30, we came home and ate.

Abigail? Congratulations, you've made it onto my list of total cunts.

What's really bad about selling your house is having to have idiots come round for viewings. What's even worse, having effectively sold your house, is still having to make arrangements for people to come round (or not).

I know I shouldn't feel sorry for estate agents, and I can't say as I do, but imagine having to deal with house buyers for your job. Fucking nightmare. In fact, they deserve each other.