I think I met my first ethical estate agent today. In fact, I think I’ve met him before because I’m pretty sure he was the one who sold me my flat five and a bit years ago, although he showed no sign of having seen it before when he came around to size it up this morning.

After a march around the exterior, and twenty minutes spent measuring up the insides, he scribbled some notes on his clipboard and presented himself in the lounge, waving around a rather large number, tacked onto the back end of a pound sign.

In fairness, it was pretty much precisely what I was expecting him to say it was worth, but it was good to get a confirmation.

The ethics came into it, though, when I told him how much more than the mortgage it was, and he suggested renting it out might be a more sensible move than selling up, in spite of the fact it would do him out of a sale.

I’d been hoping he might say something like that. The idea of owning more than one property appeals, and it means if I ever do decide to sell up in the future I’d be able to combine the value of two places. Of course, what it doesn’t do is free up the value of this place to buy somewhere else, which is where a clever accountant could come in handy.

I feel a chat with the bank coming on.

Then again, his honesty and ethics did rather collapse about him when he started describing the place to me as though I was on the verge of buying it all over again. ‘Secluded,’ he said, in spite of the fact there’s a car park out the back. ‘Not overlooked,’ he said, in spite of the fact there is another building on either side.

‘Warm in the winter because you have windows on either end of the lounge,’ he said, quietly ignoring the fact I’ve been topping up the output of the two storage heaters with an oil-filled radiator.

I couldn’t help but feel he was priming me so I’d say all the right things and sell it on his behalf if he should send anyone around for a look.

What the hell - I may just claim the flat upstairs is my loft space, and the one below a handy basement.

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