Posted by: Debrah Martin | November 17, 2013

Cycling Solicitors

IMG_3437Once upon a time there was a little cottage, and some people and furniture in it. The people decided they wanted to move to another house in another place.

‘Easy,’ said Mum.

‘Peasy,’ said Big Daughter.

‘Chocolate,’ said Smallest Daughter (who was actually taller than both Mum and Big Daughter, but the name had stuck).

‘Urghhh,’said Dog.

So Mum called the Estate Agent, Mr Floggitt, and soon the little cottage was up for sale.

‘Easy,’ said Mum.

‘Peasy,’ said Big Daughter.

‘Chocolate,’ said Smallest Daughter (who was actually taller than both Mum and Big Daughter, but the name had stuck).

‘Walkies?’ said Dog.

But it wasn’t as easy as they thought. Along came the Big Bad Wolf, called Mr Lay Down The Law, aka The Cycling Solicitor, (who didn’t actually cycle but cyclists are my pet hate because they ALWAYS get in your way on the road), and then their troubles really began…

Actually it’s not such a fairy story – a Grimm one, of course – because the problems that I encountered moving house were mainly because of solicitors. First of all they will only do what they want, when they want, and if they don’t want to, they simply don’t answer the phone. Secondly, they only do ONE thing at a time, even though they know there are a number of steps to achieve a conveyance so step two can only happen after they’ve plodded through step one, and step five – well forget it until everyone is screaming to exchange contracts and they suddenly announce they have a land registry release to obtain, or they haven’t got their client to sign the contract yet! It took 6 months for me to finally achieve that elusive sale and purchase – and actually sitting in my solicitors reception for an afternoon refusing to go home until he’d exchanged the contract after a series of nightmare disasters, including the vendor at the end of the chain dying whilst waiting for us to exchange – yes, really! A bit extreme, but a number of times, I did know the feeling myself …IMG_3134

Moral of the story? Well, obviously don’t move house unless you have to, but there has to be a way to turn this into something more amusing than a tale of disaster so I decided to try a poem.

Moving moments,



Legal wheels turn monotonously into elongated pound signs

that drain my pocket and my patience.

The authority over my castle is a pen pusher with attitude;

cycling shorts stashed in his pocket ready to make a quick getaway

when I need his pedal power most.

Some people hate caravans, but I hate cyclists,

like my cycling solicitor;

pedestrian in the extreme as his voice mail kicks in again.

And after delays like dead ends and U turns like

upturned misery mouths,

you shook my hand when we exchanged,

and congratulated us –

as if you’d achieved my dream for me.

You forgot that when I pass you on the road out of town,

I could probably drive just a little too close to your wheels …

The other moral ? If in doubt write – frustrations are definitely a good source of material – and very cathartic 😉

Now I’ve finally moved I can get on with editing Webs – due out shortly, and finishing Patchwork People. Keep looking on my website for info about release dates and giveaways …

or follow me on twitter @Storytellerdeb

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