Jonny B wanted to sell his house, but refused to pay the extortionate estate agency fees, so he decided he’d do it himself.
That would save at least a thousand pounds.
He thought about it before grabbing his camera, taking pictures of the rooms, the gardens and the facia and then striding off to sell it.
He wandered around the busy high street, the cold wind fluttering his documents, threatening to send them scattering into the road and approached young and old alike.
He enjoyed no success.
The people thought he was one of them there internet pranksters and merely ran away, grinning.
He then tried door to door.
Again, success eluded him.
No matter what tack he used nobody seemed to want to buy his lovely abode. Most stated that they actually had one and he couldn’t really argue with their point. He was standing on their doorsteps or in their sheltered porches, after all.
Three days later…
He gave in, threw the photos away, shrugged and traipsed back to his pretty red front door.
On arriving back to his cosy little home he realised it was probably a good thing he hadn’t sold it as he hadn’t had time to find a new one.
He tutted and laughed at his own stupidity, whilst making himself a hot cup of tea.
An hour later, and thirty seconds into a bed advertisement, he decided that their prices were extortionate, therefore he went in search of his saw and a large enough tree to cut into a suitable bed-frame.
He was surprised to find it under his deluxe divan with spring pocket memory-foam mattress.
He shrugged once more -less from the irony and more from fatigue- and had himself a good lie down.