Diary of an estate agent

A busy week for our latest diary-writing estate agent, largely spent chasing around disgruntled folk. There was the hippy who had painted his ceiling black. The naughty tenant who had bought a puppy. And the incident with the hot water...

Monday

Several check-outs and move-ins to organise, but first dealt with an angry new tenant who had moved in on Friday and had no hot water all weekend. Called an emergency plumber, who quickly solved the problem: the hot water switch was set to "off ". Embarrassed tenant apologised and agreed to pay the call-out charge.

Got a call from one of our landlords, who had just been on an inspection visit to one of his particularly smart flats. He had discovered that the corners had been chewed on some of his designer soft furnishings. A brief search provided the clue: dog bowls. Despite signing a no-pets contract, the tenant had acquired a puppy. He offered to forfeit his deposit to cover the damage and said he would look for another flat with a garden. He'll find it tricky, as 99 per cent of landlords won't allow pets.

Tuesday

On my way to meet a couple who are opening a new bar in Soho and need to rent nearby, I passed a block where one of our flats is being redecorated. The last tenant, a hippy gent, clearly from another planet, had painted all the ceilings black with luminous stars stuck on them. The landlord almost had a fit when he saw it. The hippy has packed his joss sticks and gone, but it'll take five coats of paint to cover the black.

The Soho bar couple loved the oriental- style £ 370-a- week apartment with bright red interiors I took them to see on New North Street. The owner restores French chateaux, and has moved permanently to France.

Wednesday

Walking down Long Acre, remembered all the interesting shops that used to be here, now replaced by the usual high street names, the only ones that can now afford the incredibly high commercial rents. No one misses the smell of old cabbage stalks, the clutter and the fruity language of the original market, but blanket gentrification is nevertheless to be regretted. At least the excellent French restaurant Mon Plaisir remains, where the waiters still sneer at your choice of wine with the food you've ordered.

A flat in Centrepoint House has become available. The flats all used to have grey-marbled wallpaper, grey carpets, grey kitchens and grey bathrooms, all in a grey concrete box. Lovely, if you like 1970s architecture. This one had been modernised but needed a lick of paint. The landlord emailed me to say his wife would meet me at the flat to decide what work needed to be done but neglected to tell me she didn't speak English. Much arm-waving and sign language got us through, after which she presented me with a box of delicious baklava pastries.

Thursday

Even removal vans need police permission to park in Covent Garden, so I was horrified to get a panicky call from a tenant waiting to move in with a van-load of furniture parked on a double yellow.

The landlord had let the flat as unfurnished, but had forgotten to arrange removal of his furnishings. Rushed over to sweet-talk the traffic wardens, apologise to the tenant and strike a deal with the removal men.

Using a kind of Rubik's cube strategy, they shifted furniture from room to room, gradually squeezing in all the tenant's things, and then filled the van with the landlord's furniture, which they agreed to take into storage.