Talking property

Social events can be tricky nowadays, says ISABEL MORTON

SOCIAL CHITCHAT is a tad strained these days. Let’s be blunt, it’s a bit hard to know which direction to take with people you’ve never met before, or with those you only see once in a blue moon.

In the good old days, if all else failed and you hadn’t been able to engage someone in riveting conversation, you could always launch into the usual Irish inquisition: “and what do you do yourself?” or “where are you living now?”, and you’d have been pretty sure of a bit of chat, however stilted, but these days, you’d be well advised to avoid the usual opening lines and general enquiries.

Such pleasantries are likely to hit a raw nerve or two, as I found out to my cost the other day, when I made the mistake of sounding a little too hearty and cheerful on bumping into someone I hadn’t seen for nearly a decade. “Well, obviously all is good with you?” she responded to my enthusiastic greeting, with an edge to her voice and a grim fixed smile on her face.

Oops. You just can’t win these days; sound jolly and some become resentful of your apparent contentment; appear down and depressed and the same people will advise you to be thankful for all you’ve got.

You can’t even indulge in the usual conversation filler and enquire about people’s children and how they are getting on, without risking getting a response that will require a box of tissues and an on-the-spot counselling session.

Where once their eyes used to light up at the prospect of being able to rabbit on about their offspring’s achievements, these days it’s all about unemployment, emigration and returning to education, as if, God help them, they weren’t already over qualified for any job they’d ever be lucky enough to secure.

Of course, it’s equally difficult for those who tentatively enquire about my line of work: just as soon as they hear the word “property” mentioned in my response, they adopt the countenance of one who has just learnt of someone’s sudden demise.

I’m well used to it by now and when I see the tears well up in their eyes and hear their voices drop to a whisper as they commiserate with me, I start my silent countdown, as I know what’s coming next.

“And what do you think yourself? Will property prices fall any further? Now that the children have left the nest, we were thinking perhaps, of downsizing. It’s just that we find we’re rattling around the house now and we think it’s time to consider something a bit more manageable.”

In other words: “We are terrified. Having invested so much in our homes, sure that we would have a safe and secure asset to sell on in the future, to finance our retirement and old age, we are now at an absolute loss to know what to do.”

At which point I nod sagely and politely discuss the merits of downsizing within the same familiar area versus a complete change of location, or indeed country. And we debate the pros and cons of following one’s children, as they circumnavigate the globe in search of work, or staying home in the event that they eventually return one day.

We may even laugh (somewhat nervously, with the advancing years) at the idea of making a dramatic move from our family homes to a bungalow or an apartment, on the presumption that stairs will eventually become an issue. Which (if somebody doesn’t interrupt our predictable conversation) will then lead on to a lengthy chat about the problems associated with garden maintenance versus the potential for unsavoury neighbours in badly managed apartment blocks. And so on.

But recently, I forgot entirely that I was a well brought up, privately-educated, south County Dublin girl and ignored the fact that social etiquette demands that one avoids confrontational comments to perfect strangers at social gatherings and came straight out with what I was thinking: “Look, I haven’t a clue about your personal finances and I’m certainly not going to ask. And even if I did know every gory detail, I’d hardly be able to advise you on what you should do, given that we don’t even know if we’ll have a currency tomorrow, never-mind a property market of any description. So, sorry, but you’ll have to make your downsizing decision based on whether or not you can afford to sit pretty.

“And if you do decide to sell, the chances are that you haven’t a hope in hell of shifting it, as if it’s anything larger than a three-bed-semi, it’s likely to be considered a trophy home and they’ve gone clean out of fashion.”

A glazed look came into her eyes and she suddenly noticed someone at the far side of the room and excused herself, leaving me to contemplate the results of my diatribe.

I’m obviously in dire need of a holiday.

Isabel Morton is a property consultant