Paperjam

Letter from... the bottom rung of the property ladder

Rant // Vanessa // 1st June 2005

People always say that getting married and moving house are the two most stressful moments in your life. I refused to believe it until I got married and everything went tits up. The night before the wedding and the DJ hadn’t arrived to set up, the ornaments for the hall were missing and we weren’t allowed to use the 10 boxes of beer and 130 bottles of wine we had bought for the reception. I even got stress spots on my cheeks two days before the big day – I never get spots!

And now I am hoping to buy my first house with, yes you’ve guessed it, the frustrated husband, who is not only trying to keep up with the solicitor/mortgage company/estate agent palava, but he also has three exams two days before we are due to exchange contracts. Oh, and he also has a presentation to do in front of managers at work the same week.

It all started off nice enough. We saw a teeny little house that was well over priced and decided to go and view it for a laugh. After all, with frustrated husband’s predictions that house prices are coming tumbling down this year, it’s definitely not a great time to buy.

So we went, and we looked. And to our surprise, we liked. It was the tardis I had always dreamed of. The inside was a shithole admittedly, but nothing a lick of paint, new kitchen and some carpet wouldn’t sort out. And if we haggled a little bit, the house would be a bargain considering the house prices at the moment. So we put in a cheeky offer, which was, of course, flatly refused. But the second one was accepted and here’s where things started getting uncomfortable.

Vanessa's new house: Repossesed, needs a lick of paint

The house is a repossession, owned by a greedy mortgage company who wanted to advertise it in the paper for 28 days with our offer. Of course someone with money would come along and snap up our bargain. So we said no. But after a little thought and negotiation, we tried again. And this time a compromise was reached. So far so good? No.

Now we get to the horrid mortgage company we are trying to get a mortgage from. Technology is the way to go, right? Wrong. Forget it. As far as possible, stick to the old fashioned face-to-face meeting. It’s cheaper, and you know who to go to if you want to moan. We thought we’d be very 21st century and skip all of that so we picked which mortgage we wanted and applied for it over the phone. One and a half hours later, we had filled in the paperwork and promises of a speedy mortgage offer would be with us within a few days.

It’s now two weeks later and still no sign of paperwork. We have two weeks left before we have to exchange contracts. Meanwhile, the solicitor has started her work and the mortgage company is carrying out the survey. So we have spent our valuable cash, but don’t actually have any confirmation of whether we will get a mortgage or not. A simple call to the mortgage company doesn’t help either. Here’s how the phonecall goes:
“Hello, blah, blah, blah, blah, can I have your name please?”
Being a calm and reasonable person I refrain from being abusive, give my name and state my reason for calling.

“Yes, I can see from your records that you have called before. But you have come through to the Leicester office and you need to speak to Wigan, because that’s who you applied for your mortgage with.”
Bearing in mind this is all part of the same national bank you’d think it didn’t matter.

Anyway, half an hour later, after calling six different numbers for the same company, and talking to about 10 people who’d insist “I can’t help you with that but I’ll transfer you to someone who can”, I am finally given a personal promise that the advisor will take the paperwork to the relevant department to post that same day.

That was one week ago and I’m still waiting. In the meantime, I have had personal promises from three different people and my answer? “If this house falls through, it’s your bloody fault!”

So there you go. Buying your first house is supposed to be exciting. Instead, it’s turning out to be a pain in the arse and I might as well just continue living with my in-laws. At least then I could afford to have a life.

Oh joy!