I worked in residential lettings 25 years ago, then i went travelling, spent some time on the dole then got my job where i’ve been trapped for 20 years. Now as well as my paid job I unwittingly have become a commercial property landlord, my family company, the most antiquated property company of which I am now working to turn into a nice friendly helpful company. We’ve a few small units which we rent to young start ups, at reasonable rents but the properties are old and haven’t been updated for decades mostly because they have always been leased on a full repair lease, meaning the tenant has to fix everything. This last week a ground floor beautician tenant of ours called us up because water was leaking from above, her roof was on fire with the swords of neptune, plunging downwards and causing a not too pleasant view of a crap waterfall for her feet patients, she does folks feet, disgusting.
She called my folks who we rely upon to provide us, my cousin and I, with information from the tenant of any issues they have and we need to know about. My cousin and I live a long way from the coal face in this instance and so it is hard for us to get there, quickly. A leak causes issues, water can get in through the tiniest fissure in a course of bricks or a crack so small you couldn’t spot it on a asphalt roof, at the moment my Dad is not so great at speaking and my Mum is partially deaf and so they may be able to gather and relay a maximum of 50% between them of the conversation had with the tenant. This has caused a problem, which we will solve via the medium of driving over using flexi time and smoothing out the situation.
I do this extra work because I will one day inherit this small business, but I am finding it increasingly difficult to help my folks out. They are proud and good folks and have no wish to ask for help, they are proud to the point of stubbornness and the only reference I have as to how they may continue is to look at how my Grandparents lived in their later years. I only want to help, I only want to see them have a slightly easier and more comfortable life; instant hot water, rooms which ate not draughty, a comfy chair which helps their backs. But they won’t say a word, they will not admit that maybe a change may do them good. I might be wrong, I think their happy, I doubt Mum can hear much of what Dad says, when he says something, he gets so frustrated, speech is more of a collection of a few regurgitated words, he’s aware of what he wants to say, but he can’t say it. That’s the sad fact.
So long may they rule, long may they live and I hope they ask me to help, when they need it. I’ll be there, or here depending on where I am.