I am chewing my fingernails and my stomach is gnawing at me as I wait to hear from the estate agent. It's 3.25 pm. I suppose they are waiting to see how many offers come in today, and then the family of the owner of the flat will, I suppose, choose the person who has made the highest offer and is in the best position to proceed.
I have offered the asking price, have nothing to sell and need no mortgage. But if it goes for above the asking price, then I shall have to borrow, and may not be in as good a position as somebody else with more cash. I am so on edge, I can't concentrate on a thing. I should be working, but just can't put my mind to it. I didn't even go to the gym, which would have been good for me under the circumstances. Instead, I ate a fattening lunch of four slices of grilled fresh black pudding, some leftover potatoes sauted with cracked black pepper and a dash of Worcester Sauce, and a pile of salad. I've just baked some cherry and coconut biscuits and might just have to have one. It will taste better than bitten fingernails!
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