"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts."
I am thinking of this quote from Shakespeare's "As You Like It" spoken by the melancholy Jaques. I'm taking it somewhat out of context as it refers to the passing of time and the difference between the vigor of youth and placidity of old age, among much more. But the one man playing many parts has struck a chord with me, particularly in the last few weeks as I've been wearing multiple real-estate hats.
In my line of work, we are required to. I imagine it's the same in all jobs, but in property, there's a skillset required that goes beyond just turning up on time at a house, unlocking the door and putting the lights on. For some clients, it's simply doing a good job: advising, pricing, getting the right buyers through the door and knowing when to take an offer. That's the simple part, the actual work part; but usually it's more involved, more intense.
There are all sorts of reasons for this, but principally it's that a home is so personal and says so much about us: who we are, how we like to present to the world, what's important to us. And therefore emotions run high, while rationale can run low.
This means that we, the brokers, become part property-whisperer, part therapist, part whipping post, part friend. We navigate the path for clients at what is typically a supremely stressful time. In the past week I've been marriage counsellor, financial adviser, Pilates referrer (despite being territorial about my excellent instructor), holiday adviser and dog-walker.
I lunched with a client earlier in the week to talk property. We'd met over a decade ago; we talked about her moving for five years, then looked for three years and finally secured what I thought was the perfect place. It seems that's not the case: she wants to sell. But we've become friends through the journey, as often happens, and more importantly than dwelling on why the house didn't work for her in the end, we caught up on life: family, relationships, holiday reading. (I shamelessly recommended my own book).
We also talked a bit of politics, namely what changes Labour might make to the prime property landscape in London should the party win the next election. That took us through the starter and main course, but by coffee I was waiting for the big property reveal. I'd imagined, given that she's European, she might declare she'd be following her Mediterranean compadres back to France, Spain, Italy or Greece. I was prepared to tilt my head, nod in agreement that post-Brexit I understood, and discuss whether she'd keep a pied-à-terre in London or if she'd sell up completely. As so many others have done.
I'd predicted too quickly. She threw me by saying that what she wanted was a bigger place in London. Her downsize had been a mistake: she and her partner love the capital and want to spend more rather than less time here. She enthused about the summer exhibition at the Royal Academy and the Anselm Kiefer at the White Cube Bermondsey. She implored me to get tickets for the West End transfer of the National Theatre's The Motive and the Cue. It's a dramatization of the time John Gielgud directed Richard Burton in a performance of Hamlet in New York. Actually, I can't wait to see it.
And that's when I remembered the other part of my job, to create the right energy, to lift a room when necessary by looking for and pointing out the positives. I've forgotten it lately. But at this particular lunch, it was my client who remembered. I left the restaurant and walked the streets of Kensington with a skip in my step. Over the last couple of months, I've been too doom and gloom, too focused on interest-rate rises and predictions of marketplace pain to come. But London itself is the antidote. Culture, education, social cohesion, architectural beauty, the parks, the people: it's all here. Of course the city has its flaws, but show me a capital without them.
We all know what Samuel Johnson told his friend and biographer, James Boswell, in 1777: "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford."
Agreed.
(The Secret Agent, an occasional glimpse into the world of high-end property, has run his own estate agency in central London for 15 years. He and his team of four work in sales and acquisition in the super prime price range.)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author