A diary. If Alan Bennett, the greatest playwright of our time, were a chartered building surveyor. Invariably cynical. Views are ostensibly my own. Parody.
That is it. I am no longer a property professional. Retired. Account closed. It has been fun.
No more fee forecasts, Ruperts or freezing my balls of in empty shit-pits. No schedules, tables, lists and fucking shit proformas. Hi-viz binned, glove box full of pens ditched.
@miskinblue@BBCPolitics Stating facts is not name calling you utter numb nut. Calling you numb nut is of course name calling, for which I will not apologise.
This puts me in mind of when Rupert in the the valuation team (along with Tarquin and Rufus) decided to get into running to woo a client (Charles from Ponsomby-Smith & Belmont-D’Church Developments). Needless to say Rupert went to Darcy Float-Naff who schooled at Dulwich.
@Jacob_Rees_Mogg The only speed and efficiency was in handing money out to your Eton chums, donors and assorted spivs.
If you so hate process why are you the filibuster-in-chief for the Tory party? You are nothing but an arrogant toffee-nosed streak of grift.
I am minded of the time I was hoodwinked into celebrating Rupert the land agent’s inheritance celebrations. His brother in-law (Darius) had gone off the rails, became a QS and had been buying sniff from some of (what he (crudely) termed were his common friends from the site.
Retirement in the offing. Now I see the light at the end of the tunnel and the countdown begins, each hour feels like a week.
The proverbial Rita Hayworth poster will soon be torn off the wall, by disgruntled colleagues wondering what the hell happened.
It has been often said that writing is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration...
I say building surveying is 99 percent finding the right key to a riser cupboard amongst 50 unlabelled keys and 1 percent cutting and pasting from previous reports.