Date: 15th March 2021
The latest blog from SFSA writer Donald Stewart:
House prices in Aberdeen are not what they used to be…
Ask Mr. Eriksson…
Picture the scene…
Mr. Eriksson is standing in the Granite City, in a quiet suburb, with an Estate Agent, a Mr. Glass pondering just what he is doing showing this lanky Swede round the fifth property of the day, and it is only 12pm! This guy seems to get from one thing to the next in double quick time!
The manager of the local office of the company, when he heard who was coming to view properties in the area had called Mr. Glass and told him this would be an easy sale. This guy was desperate. For whatever reason Mr. Eriksson wanted to move to the city and all he needed was a base, a place to stay.
A certain Mr. Cormack had even phoned Mr. Glass’s boss up and told him to do all that was humanly possible to give Mr. Eriksson the tour and keep him happy. Mr. Cormack was apparently dead important, cos he did all his meetings on Zoom.
Mr. Glass was doing all he could but feeling he was getting absolutely nowhere.
He was fair scunnered with the whole morning as every property shown to this Mr. Eriksson was just no good enough for the lanky big guy.
Mr. Eriksson turned at this point to look directly at Mr. Glass. With his measured Swedish accent and the kind of supercilious and condescending attitude Mr. Glass would have cut down in his youth, Mr. Eriksson said, “Perhaps there is nothing in Aberdeen that might appeal to me? Maybe this is just not going to work?”
Mr. Glass, with the warning from his manager ringing in his ears that if he got this sale, the commission would be bigger than the rest of the sales he had managed up till now put together for 2021, was not to be put off.
“Mr. Eriksson,” he began. “We do have one more property to show you. It is not centrally located, and it is a little bit of a drive out of town but it is well appointed, a bit pricy but if you are up for the challenge we can get there in 30 minutes and I can guarantee you that if what you see does not please you, then, yes, there is nothing in Aberdeen or Aberdeenshire for that matter that is going to appeal.”
Mr. Eriksson nods curtly and before he knows it Mr. Glass is in the car with Mr. Eriksson beside him.
In between he manages to squeeze a phone call in to make sure that the keys for the house were in the usual place.
Owned by a woman known locally as “Yon Nancy”, she had the reputation of being quite the saucy mare. On more than one occasion, Mr. Glass had struggled to get away with his dignity intact and the Estate Agent fraternity had always seen her as a lonely woman, of a certain age, who had an appetite for men of a much younger vintage. When they had taken clients up, she had been full of decorum and quite civilised to both visitors, but it was the inuendo that had been dropped into the conversation that had made her intentions clear had the Estate Agent returned alone thereafter…
The fact was that, unknown to the Estate Agents, Nancy fancied none of them but quite like making them feel uncomfortable as she had one dalliance in her life that had left a stain on her. To date she had run a highly successful business from the house and made plenty of cash independently of her little hobby!
Five minutes in google would have found that out but there seemed to be little appetite for men in the area to do any proper research!
Like the willing fly to the web, Mr. Glass was now driving Mr. Eriksson straight into the heart of what he thought might be a do or die situation.
They arrived within the 30 minute deadline set by himself.
The house stood, imposing and with a long drive up to it, the image was likely to be increasingly impressive as the driveway gave way to the beauty and splendour of the house itself. The gravel under the wheels made the right sounds as the car came to an impressive stop just outside the stairway to the door and Mr. Eriksson was out the car almost before it stopped.
At last, this house was likely to be sold, thought Mr. Glass as he heard the words, “impressive”, “amazing” and “worth the wait” drip from the corner of Mr. Eriksson’s gub.
Mr. Glass had hoped for such a reaction, in fact had hardly dreamed that it would have been quite so enthusiastic like that but was now absolutely skipping to the beat of Mr. Eriksson’s purring.
What he did not expect as what happened next.
The front door opened.
Mr. Eriksson had managed a skipping of his own as he got to the front door in just three bounds and was standing with his back to it when it was opened. Mr. Glass had struggled to keep up with his client’s enthusiasm, when he bent down to lift up the flowerpot under which the front door key was hidden.
At the door was a serious looking Nancy.
Mr. Eriksson was hardly able to say a word before he felt a firm hand upon his shoulder, was spun round and faced the imposing figure of Yon Nancy, the exotic woman of local folk lore. The tie he had put on for his day in the frozen north was then grabbed by Nancy and unceremoniously yanked forward as he tripped into the house. Mr. Glass was unable to see his client’s expression, but he was able to see Nancy’s.
He did not like what he saw.
He tried to gain entry himself but without one word, a well manicured hand was placed firmly upon his chest, the other hand relieving him of the keys before a firm shove sent him crashing down the steps and onto the gravel. By the time he was able to focus, the front door was firmly shut and both Nancy and Mr. Eriksson were nowhere to be seen.
He did wander round the house a few times to see if he could see anything but all he heard were faint words that wafted from vents which sounded like Johnson and Ulrika but he knew not to what they referred and so, after a half hour of wandering he took the decision to call his boss, deliver the bad news and make his way back to the office reckoning that Mr. Eriksson was a big enough boy to take care of himself…
Mr. Eriksson did resurface, three days hence.
Local legend spoke of a dishevelled figure wandering the streets one morning muttering things in what sounded like a Scandinavian accent about never coming back here again.
Yon Nancy took the house off the market and never bothered any Estate Agent or younger man ever again. When challenged in the local Spar she smiled and said that she had managed the ultimate revenge for what had happened and had no need any more of “playing with little boys”.
Whilst the author asserts his right to this as an original tale, there is no evidence that a certain Yon Nancy exists, so this is therefore not true, though A certain Mr. Eriksson once entertained a certain Nancy upon his arm.
During the week, we had the number of candidates for the Aberdeen swell with the announcement or was it a suggestion or perhaps even the merest hint that former England Boss Sven Goran Eriksson would be in the frame. He would help Stephen Glass make a success of the post of manager apparently. The post has yet to be filled.
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