You Wouldn't Trust a Property Adviser to Cut Your Hair, Would You?

So why would you send your hairdresser to find a property on your behalf? Sebastian Gibson bemoans bloated modern entourages.

‘It’s lovely,’ said Linda, ‘really lovely.’ It clearly wasn’t and this was the fifth flat we’d seen on behalf of the client Linda and I share. I’m acting in my usual role as property finder while Linda was stretching somewhat beyond her remit, for she is the client’s hairdresser. This wasn’t Linda’s suggestion, it was the client who has entrusted Linda to I’m not sure what. I’m trying not to take this personally, for I am the property person, and Linda is absolutely delightful — so much so that she can’t find fault in any of the properties that we’ve seen together.

I have no problem showing properties to anyone, I’d happily arrange and take on tour the second assistant lavatory cleaner if need be, what I find somewhat frustrating is a time-wasting exercise. Linda’s character is such that she’s not possessed with the critical facilities that a hardened property viewer (as I am) is. It also seems slightly ridiculous when looking for a 15 million pound flat not to have the Principal involved. I have bought for clients’ unseen but I’ve been quite specific about the pros and cons and leaned more heavily on the cons to ensure disappointment is evaded. Linda does not see cons.

The perfect property adviser?

I wonder when the entourage became so essential to people of wealth? It’s almost like a badge of status to jump through the hoops of chauffeur, hairdresser, and chiropodist to reach the ultimate pinnacle of the p.a. The p.a. is the most trusted of the inner sanctum and in the case of this Middle Eastern lady, I’m pretty sure the closest friend and confidante. I need to pass the barrier of Linda before reaching her and then we’ll get to the ear of madame who arrives in August to escape the Riyadh heat.

From the ridiculous to the sublime, my love affair with London continues; the sun shines, balmy evenings are spent in parks with the waft of classical music or the Rolling Stones as background noise.

I’ve come across an area that I knew, but not really. It is akin to a familiar word that others use and that I have a vague notion of what it means and so nod in agreement.

Canonbury is the area of new discovery. It’s leafy and charming; spread across a small area with Canonbury Square at the epicenter and Georgian and early Victorian houses inhabiting it.

Wide residential streets house handsome properties, some of which back onto communal gardens. There’s not much going on there but it’s a 10-minute bike ride to the city or Shoreditch, and so understandably popular with those who work there. My Middle Eastern lady wouldn’t dream of living there – too far from the mothership of Harrods – though I’m sure Linda would find it lovely.

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