The call came on a Saturday morning last month.I always knew it would. It had been lurking in the background as I tried to carry on, make plans. I knew that it would all end, swiftly. Not with a whimper but with a bang.<\/p>\n
I’d been told there was a viewing planned at the cottage I’ve rented since 2018.It’s been up for sale since April. I learned it was going to be put on the market in February, when the landlady turned up with little warning, an estate agent in tow.<\/p>\n
The agent started taking photographs of every room and my courtyard garden. Without asking first.Or even talking to me. Because who am I, other than a lowly private renter, unworthy of even a kindly ‘Good morning’.<\/p>\n
The viewing was scheduled for 11.30 am (there had been a few). I walked my dogs early, then raced up a steep hill to make sure I was back in time to tidy.<\/p>\n
At 11.45, my mobile rang.It was the landlady. ‘The viewing is cancelled but there is another one at half past one.’<\/p>\n
I dared to express my dismay, my upset at the constant intrusions. Yet another no-show; another day when I was unable to do as I pleased.<\/p>\n