Are people funny about their football or what? I've just come home after enjoying a few beers at the local Venta where a Euro 2008 football match involving Spain and someone else, (shows how much I know about footy!) was being televised.

The bar was packed so you couldn't help but get carried away with the passion and revelry of the local fans cheering on their team. Even after becoming the victim of a number of amiable jeers from the crowd, having quickly realised I was English, the intonation of their gesticulations clear, it was still an enjoyable evening. (The fact that the overpaid, underachieving primadonnas who were supposed to represent the pride of the English three lions were missing, presumed washed up, has become the joke of the European footballing community, is neither here nor there).

Needless to say, the reason I had sought refuge in a Spanish bar for that evening was solely due to the fact that one of the English bars I frequented from time to time when looking for easy conversation, was actually showing highlights of that days horse racing on the main screen. Puzzled, when I had asked why the football wasn't being shown, the answer was a brusque, What's the point?' There must have been no more than a handful of ex pats on the premises, shouting loudly as a brown nag carried a midget at full pelt along a grassy knoll, (don't know much about horse racing either!) to which everyone jeered half heartedly. It's a sad fact that a number of bars are deemed 'off limits' to the locals, pandering to what they believe to be a loyal and forever affluent exile population in which the summer months usually prove fruitful. Unfortunately, if the incumbent landlords of such establishments took a little time out to study their indigenous clientele, they would soon discover that the locals, once welcomed into an establishment and catered for accordingly, could supplement an off season income to carry them through the whole year.

It's amazing how many people move over here with the romantic idea of buying and running a bar. It's even more incredulous at how many people have never actually experienced running or even working in a hostelry believing it to be 'easy money!' Just ask a landlord anywhere in Britain who has owned his own pub for more than a year, especially in the current climate and see how easy it is, not! I mean, if you've never run a bar in Blighty, what makes you think you can run one here?

Too many immigrant bars close, fall away or change hands with increased regularity as owners and leaseholders struggle to pay the rent and keep the books healthy in times of little profit. All too often though, the mistake becomes irreversible as the history of a Brits only' hostelry invariably leads to isolation from the Spanish whom, if made welcome to some degree, (perhaps by showing the Spanish game that evening) may have given support and custom all year round. Another failed business on the horizon? All for the sake of a football match!

A close third to leaving Luke and Joseph in the emotional stakes had to be the selling of our lovely house in Weymouth. We had only been there for around six years after having moved to the mainland from our home of seventeen years on Portland, but it had become a loving home and had seen many changes in that short time. We had spent a considerable sum in improvements and decoration, the place was A1 to coin a phrase, everything was neat and new and clean with a state of the art kitchen and all mod cons. If truth be known, it had been a dream home for us, overlooking the beautiful Chesil bank and Lyme bay, situated at the end of a quiet cul de sac in Littlesea just close enough to the town for us to walk should we want a night out, or get to work. I used to walk through the woods and Curtis fields every day spying regularly the vast array of wildlife that abounded. Quite often a deer, badger or fox would tread the path right in front of me during the day while in the darkness a giant owl would screech, caught in my walkers headlight in the trees. It was a beautiful place to be living even if the never-ending quest by housing developers threatened to destroy it always loomed on the horizon.

We would walk for miles along the Chesil heritage coastal paths, in the summer stopping to bathe in one of the many secluded coves or fish for mackerel while in the winter watch the waves crash over the Spit displaying nature's relentless force. It was indeed a lovely place to be living and a shame it was one of the things we chose to leave behind.

At around the time we decided to put the house on the market, it was a boom time for sellers and estate agents alike. We requested the services of a number of local agencies with regard to putting the house on the market obtaining upwards of half a dozen quotes as to the possible price we could get for our home. Imagine how confused we were when after receiving said number of estimates the differential range showed itself to be around £80,000!

We were more than happy in the knowledge that in the relatively short time we had owned a property at St Patricks Avenue, the price had trebled from the purchase price we had paid. It only remained to choose a reputable agent and throw it open to offers on a reserve price. However, as I have already stated, it appeared that not only were people like us making a decent profit out of the property boom, but also estate agents were reaping the benefit of between 1% and 2% commission on all sales, and on a house now as valuable as ours, this could range from between five and seven thousand pounds in profit. And this for only a picture in a window and a few lines of scree in the local papers. We then investigated the possibility of advertising on the internet. There were a number of websites offering space whereby you could display your property with pictures and details of the house, in fact ten times more space than was available in the high street shops, and all for around £150 including a display board.

We chose one of the more popular dotcoms at the time and listed our house, pictures, reams of details about the bricks and mortar and the surrounding area and more importantly the asking price. This would now be displayed to all on a multitude of link sights all over the world.

This was in the July of 2006. We had decided to try and sell the house for one year and if, at the end of that time, we had not sold, we would have to rethink our move as even then we could see that the buoyant market may not last past that point and we could flounder.

We had, as most people do, advertised at a higher price than what we believed could be attained. In our minds we had a minimum amount we could accept in an attempt to close for a quick sale.

We had a number of 'hits' from all over the country and several firm appointments to view within a three-month period. Two offers had come in just over the minimum while another came halfway between the two, still very reasonable. It was ironic however that someone had seen our display board who actually lived four doors away. A good friend and sporting colleague had suggested that his sister might be interested at looking at the place as she had wanted to move to the area for some time. Sure enough, an appointment was made mid November and she arrived to view along with her brother. She said she liked the property and left stating she would think on it and be in touch. Like so many things of this nature, as soon as someone leaves or intimates a later contact, you invariably believe it means 'no thanks'.

That evening, Rose and I were watching the TV when we received a telephone call from the lady in question. She said she liked the house very much and made an offer which matched the highest one so far. I informed her of the situation but said if she could raise another £1000 on top of the existing offer, we would accept. The line went silent for a short while until she came back stating she wasn't sure if she could go any higher. I again pressed the point and insisted on the extra before selling. Again there was a pause this time followed by her request for a bit more time to think about it. We ended the call then Rose and I sat discussing whether to accept her initial offer or not. It was certainly a lot higher than the minimum I was happy to accept, though when you get to this stage, every little extra helps.

The phone rang about five minutes later. The lady came straight out and offered the increased asking price to which I accepted. I told her that if she came round the next day to confirm the details and shake hands on the deal, I would take it off the market in favour of her offer.

After replacing the receiver, Rose and I sat down in silence. There was a million things going through my mind, a million reasons had popped up to stay, to pull out now, to forget the sale, while another million reasons popped up to go, to sell as soon as possible, to leave and get away. Talk about emotional!

It was all very well me saying we had done a good deal and given ourselves a better than good chance of a secure future combined with an easier lifestyle and chance to start again. But now we had another challenge, in the short term, we were about to make ourselves homeless!

Useful Tip
Did you know there is no obligation or law or anything anywhere which says you have to use an Estate Agent to buy or sell a property! And it's amazing how many people don't know that. I sold my house using a website, and in the process saved upwards of £6000 in fees and lost profit. I chose this method because none of the local estate agents felt obliged to justify or feel any remorse about reaping a huge profit for very little outlay.

I read a story the Echo recently (on the web) where someone was complaining about the plight of Estate Agents and their staff who were being laid off or made redundant due to office closures or a shortfall in business. Losing your job is a sad and bad thing at any time, but I was equally bemused to read another story where a less than sympathetic reader gave no quarter as to feeling any sympathy for them at all. And let's be fair, creaming off the property gravy train has been going on for years. Some agents have made vast amounts of profit in a short space of time with a new office springing up somewhere every day with a new name and a multitude of 'sales advisors' looking to turn over as much commission as possible without giving a second thought to the vendor. I'm sorry, I believe the days of the high street estate agents are soon to become a thing of the past.

It cost me around £600 inclusive of legal fees, (most solicitors have a conveyance specialist with a standard charge for the admin) to advertise and sell my property from start to finish. And don't be ignorant or afraid, if you can't do it yourself or are totally computer illiterate or have no system, you must have a child, grandchild or competent friend that could help you with the net! Even me with my gerbil powered crystal set managed to put something together on a system already formatted to accept your information and photographs, there are plenty of house selling dotcoms listed. And why just limit your sales pitch to the local area? We had calls from as far away as Scotland and Kent who had seen our advert.

Even if you have to pay for someone's help, it could, as we found out, save you a small fortune and to be honest, most people need all the money they can raise. So sorry Estate agents, (especially the one that tried to rip me off by offering to buy our house himself for 30% under market value!) as bad as it is I also feel little sympathy. If you'd all have cut your profit margin and charged a little less, you could have had my business and perhaps better weathered the storm!

Useful hint
Hot off the press relative to crime! If someone looking as if they're dressed in some kind of uniform and gesticulating for you to pull over on the road, then don't! Just recently, a man and his son were pulled over by a car with two men in wearing peak caps believing them to be something to do with the security forces. They were actually muggers who, once the father had rolled his window down, gained access to the car in an attempt to rob them and steal their bags. The father and the son managed to fight them off and pull away quickly. The other protagonists jumped into their motor and did a quick 180, pulling away at speed.

This has happened a number of times to holidaymakers and locals alike close to the airport, on the slip roads leading away from the car parks and further along towards the motorways. Hire cars are an easy target, usually recognisable by the absence of wheel hubs on a new'ish looking car. If anyone in anything other than a clearly marked police vehicle tries to pull you over, don't stop! Look for a built up area with lots of people or another police or emergency service vehicle before stopping. (If by some chance it is an unmarked police car and you are shot, sorry!)

Spanish facts
The Spanish actually renounce Tuesday the 13th of a month much as we do Friday the 13th, believing it to be a day for bad luck and sadness.

The Costa del Sol claims a staggering 100 km of unbroken sandy beach, though less than 10 km ever gets crowded.

Tenors Jose Carerras, Placido Domingo and the soprano Montserrat Cabella have been known to do a bit of Karaoki around the opera houses here.

Joseph Bonapart, the brother of Napoleon, ruled Spain from 1801 until being made redundant in 1813 leaving without his P45?

Useful phrase
Querria alquilar o comprar una casa o el piso.
Pronounced: Kerriah alkwillahr o comprahr oona cassa o ehl peesoh
Meaning: I would like to by or rent a house or flat.

Next week:
Last chance saloon, three months to back out or commit!