Tales from the Mischief presents
The Housing Market
Good evening. Tonight, the housing market. They call it a ladder. It is a tree, and I am at the top of it.
One reception room, original bark throughout, uninterrupted canopy views. Offers begin at everything you own. Write that down.
Viewings are strictly by appointment. I am the appointment. I am busy.
I would like to offer over asking. Also under asking, behind asking, and slightly to the left of asking. I simply must have the tree.
IS THIS THE VIEWING? I can smell the hallway. I have never been happier or less dignified.
CRASH! BUBBLE! SELL THE LAKE! SELL EACH OTHER!Overruled. The lake is fine. So am I.
The market is perfectly calm. It has seen what happens to markets that are not. Dreadful business, that. For them, I mean.
I already live there.Tales from the Mischief. A new sketch on Sundays.
Roof rats are genuinely arboreal and prefer to nest high up in trees and attics rather than on the ground, so a fairy-house in a tree really is prime real estate to one.[1]