My loyal reader knows full well that I escape to southern seas for the winter months, and all winters are mere memories. Having experienced earthquakes, cyclones, fires and shootings across the waters, I am now ‘locked up’ in my home county, embarrassed that Kent has earned notoriety as the name-bearer of a rampant virus variant while China, birthplace of the original virus, seems to have escaped any such fate.
As part of the struggle for entertainment, I spent four months buying a property on the South Coast. A modest two-bed with sea views: a bolt hole for the healthy sea air and an indulgent haven for happier times. I bought a two-bed residence in Christchurch, New Zealand, a while back – one signed fax paper sealed the deal. What a palaver to buy over here.
Foolishly, I agreed to allow a solicitor, coupled with the estate agent under the same parent company, to handle the purchase. The seller also fell for this same system and we both realised that these multipurpose, all-enveloping businesses are not good news. Why didn’t I use my sensible, local lawyer who has dealt with previous purchases? Why did I get sucked into a London firm that seemed on another planet?
Foolishly, I agreed to allow a solicitor, coupled with the estate agent under the same parent company, to handle the purchase
First, I was asked if l wanted a survey done on the property. The flat was expensive, it is near to the water, it is 120 years old and a possible contestant to the vagaries of the weather. I chose a middle-ranged survey costing £400 and l handed the money over to the estate agent. The surveyor was part of the multifaceted company. I asked regularly for the results, but there was no news. The agents claimed eventually that the money was passed to the solicitor and was for the searches and checks that totalled £360, with no explanation of the ‘lost’ £40 and no survey.
Second, I was sent a large wad of papers for the sale and not for the purchase.
Third, despite the advertising leaflet stating that the property was freehold, the solicitor questioned this, and the estate agent assured him that it was in fact leasehold. Only when I stepped in did the estate agent agree that it was a freehold flat. But hold on! Not only a freehold flat but the freehold included the larger flat below with a secured 999-year lease. So I was buying, for £5 a year, the freehold of the flat below that would more than double the responsibilities and risks of ownership, with no mention at all this matter until well into negotiations and preparations for the purchase. The solicitor warned me of the dangers that could occur when selling, as a future buyer wanting a mortgage may have difficulty obtaining one. My solicitor’s letters to the seller’s solicitors (both under the same parent company) spouted forth on the Landlord and Tenant Act 1987 but to no avail. Apparently all to do with the disposal of the freehold.
Next, I was charged leasehold supplement of £300 when l had told them from day one that I would pay cash. I had a charge for a chancel repair liability indemnity policy of £36, with no explanation as to what that meant. I discovered from my learned friend, the proprietor of a leading London estate agency, that the money was probably for insurance covering any claims from a local church, but that was news to me. The final bill was never itemised and explained and the figures were written over a previous bill that was not mine.
Exhausted and confused by the whole lengthy process, I probably overlooked more mistakes but I was only too relieved to sign up, pay up and eventually collect the keys.
A lesson had been learned. Never allow one company, with its antennae in so many areas, to control any purchase or sale. Separate professional specialists would have sorted out the purchase far more effectively. Distancing of the various specialities is a far healthier state of affairs.
So now an empty flat awaits the change in seasons, weather and national laws. It is empty of everything, but soon it will house that ‘distressed’ rocking chair bought in the summer in Morton on Marsh for the purpose of sitting out on the balcony watching the waves, soaking up the evening sun and hopefully praising the Lord that we have finally passed through this terrible, plague-filled, wet and miserable English winter.
