JP’s old man looks well. Retirement definitely suits him. He greets me with a bear hug, then hands me a Cohiba the size of a rhino turd. Melanie from Human Resources reminds us both that smoking is forbidden in enclosed places of work under the Public Health (Tobacco) Act and JP’s old man laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, then, out of the corner of his mouth, he tells me to sack her before the day is over.
Which I will end up having to do? I might be the managing director of Hook, Lyon and Sinker, but JP's old man still owns the place.
“You nervous?” he goes.
I’m like, “A little bit. But it’s all about channeling those nerves in a positive way. I remember that from my rugby days.”
It’s my first time ever handing out the annual Hook, Lyon and Sinker Excellence in Selling Awards. I tell everyone in the office to hang up their phones and gather round. There’s a real air of something.
JP’s old man goes, “Ladies and gentlemen, just before Ross hands out this year’s gongs, I just want to say enormous congratulations to you all on a wonderful 2016. I’m happy to tell you that it was our best financial year since 2006 and that all those prophets of doom who said we would never again make the mistakes of the Celtic tiger era have been proven well and truly wrong. We’re not only making those mistakes, we’re making lots of new ones as well.”
That gets a round of applause.
“Let’s hope that continues into 2017 with further changes to the planning laws relating to minimum apartment sizes and further relaxation by the Central Bank of mortgage lending rules, especially those loan-to-value lending caps that are preventing tens of thousands of young people from following their parents and their grandparents into a lifetime of indebtedness. It’s a scandal – a real scandal. Now, to give out this year’s awards, I want to hand you over to a man who has so successfully steered this estate agency since my retirement a year ago, the man responsible for the robust health of the Hook, Lyon and Sinker balance sheet – the King of Closing, Mr Ross O’Carroll-Kelly.”
I end up getting a massive, massive round of applause.
I’m like, “Yeah, no, thanks, Mr Conroy, for that introduction. And can I just add that I’m especially pleased that Hook, Lyon and Sinker continues to be the biggest seller of repossessed homes in the €300,000 to €800,000 price bracket in the entire country and I think we should all give ourselves a round of applause for that.”
We do. It’d nearly bring tears to your eyes.
Then I wave the little stack of envelopes at them. “And now,” I go, “to the winners of this year’s awards, which have been decided by an independent panel of experts working in the property field. First up is the prestigious award for Most Imaginative Use of an Adjective in Selling a Property.”
I tear open the envelope and I read the citation. “For describing a 35-square-metre cottage with a toilet in the middle of the actual living room as ‘characterful’, the winner is . . . oh, fock, it’s me!”
It’s actually a bit embarrassing. One or two people shout, “Fix!” but in, like, a good-natured way? Selling that gaff for €350,0000 was one of my proudest-ever achievements – right up there with the birth of my kids, maybe even better.
“Okay,” I go, grabbing the next envelope, “this is the one that generates a lot of debate every year. It’s the award for the Cleverest Use of a Misspelling to Generate a Buzz About a Property That No One was Previously Interested In.”
I tear open the envelope.
“For describing a one-bedroom gorden flat in Dortry where a tree blocked the only window as having ‘a beech view’, the winner is . . . okay, it’s me again!”
There’s, like, more laughter, then more applause. I feel a little bit guilty about this one, as I didn’t actually know there were two different spellings of that word. But I present it to myself anyway.
I’m there, “Okay, let’s hope it doesn’t continue like this! We only have a small mantelpiece!”
Someone shouts, “Bijou! You have a bijou mantelpiece that’s very much utilitarian in character!”
It’s Frankie Button, our head of commercial property. He’s Clongowes but still sound. Everyone laughs.
“Okay,” I go, “next up is one of the most coveted awards. The roll of honour for this particular prize contains some of the well-known characters in the world of property-selling. It’s the award for the Most Creative Way of Describing a Property in a Less Desirable Area by Saying Where it’s Near Rather Than Where it Actually Is.”
Again, I tear open the envelope and I read the citation. “For selling a three-bedroom house in Templeogue for the price of an equivalent house in Terenure, this estate agent coined the expression ‘good-neighbourhood-adjacent’. The winner is . . .”
I don’t believe it. It’s me again. It continues like this for the next hour. I win the award for the Most Ingenious Yet Borderline Illegal Use of the Phrase ‘Within Commutable Distance’, the award for the Most Disingenuous Use of the Expression ‘Rustic’ and the award for the Most Postmodern Interpretation of the Word ‘Gorden’.
I win them all. I literally sweep the boards. Including the overall prize of Seller of the Year.
When it’s all over, we head to the Horse Show House for Champagne and blah, blah, blah. And that’s when Frankie Button says something to me that gets the wheels in my head suddenly turning.
He goes, “Do you never get sick of working for JP’s old man?”
I’m there, “Sick of it? Dude, I love what I do.”
He’s like, “What I mean is would you not prefer to work for yourself? Have you never wanted to be rich?”
I'm there, "I've never needed to think about it. Mainly because my old man is already rich?"
He goes, “Hey, I’m just putting the idea out there. Why are you making millions for JP’s old man when you could be making millions for yourself?”