Despite being rather preoccupied with Small Dog's travails of late, we are still in the throes of trying to sell our house, and were gratified to learn that after the doldrums of the festive period, we were booked to have a viewing at the weekend.
Or so we thought....
The no-show viewers had re-booked for this morning, in the window of opportunity between dropping Small Dog off at the vet and picking her up early afternoon. So after sitting with her while she reluctantly went to sleep, we raced back home and took our mind off things by setting the house to rights ready for the re-scheduled viewing at 11 a.m.
By 10.55 everything was perfect. The house was spotless, not a thing out of place, fire lit, lights twinkling above the fireplace........and so we waited.
And then, to break the monotony, we waited some more.
At 11.30 I rang the estate agent to enquire wtf was happening. He had no idea. And neither did his colleague who was parked in the close just over the road from us, waiting for the same people to arrive to view a house there too.
I completely understand that unforeseen events can derail people's plans. It happens all the time, even to us.
How long does it take to make a phone call to let the agent know they can't make it?
Twenty..... thirty seconds? And given that they didn't turn up on Saturday, and didn't let us know in advance then either, you would think that they'd move heaven and earth not to let us down AGAIN!
You would..... wouldn't you?
Granted, I've had more pressing concerns to worry about today, but this degree of blatant discourtesy leaves me aghast.
*many, MANY expletives deleted*