Annus Horribilis Part 3 …

 As we proceeded through August (our moving day was to be September 1st, as removal companies do not normally work on Sundays), the silence from the landlady and her family was deafening. Through the mediation of our solicitor, it was agreed (apparently - more about this later) that we would vacate the property by 17.00 on Monday 1st September. Our brilliant removal men would arrive at 08.00 to begin the move, our super cat lady would arrive in the middle of the day to transport Holly and Jaz to avoid stressing them. Ann and Oscar would be at the new house (I would drop them off at 07.00), a Cypriot friend would arrive at 08.30 to take all our accumulated pots and plants from Argaka to the new house. The final piece of the jigsaw was a lovely guy who had done electrical work and other jobs for us would go to the new house and make both sets of gates “Oscar-proof” with chicken wire we had purchased. He would then come back to Argaka and remove about 60 metres of chain-link fence we had had fitted, and which was now surplus to requirements. This was a gift from us to him.

All well-organised and budgeted for. And then, on the previous Sunday morning I received a telephone call from an unknown number. The caller informed me she was our landlady’s niece (visiting from Australia), and was a lawyer. She then proceeded to inform me that another “inspection” was required before we departed so that the landlady could decide whether to release our deposit. As it had only been four weeks since the last “inspection” I could not see the reason for this. The tone was threatening and “legal redress” would be sought if we refused her demands. Incredibly she offered to “inspect” the property herself and did not quite understand when I asked her what she would compare things with. Had she inspected the property before? No. Had there been a photographic record made twelve years ago? No. Was there an inventory? No. A totally pointless exercise.

More calls to the solicitor who advised us not to agree to an inspection or meeting of any sort. Once again he acted as an intermediary (in whose interest?). Finally an agreement was made. Property to be vacated by 17.00 on Monday 1st September, and our man would remove the chain-link fence and our internet company would remove the wi-fi antenna from the roof. The electricity and water bills would be settled, and community charge payments brought up to date. All the things good, long-standing tenants would do as a matter of course.

All signed, sealed and delivered you would assume. Oh no, dear reader. Let me outline the events of Monday 1st September.

The day started well. Ann, Oscar and I drove to the new house and I left them there to await the removal men. A phone call alerted me to the fact they were running late due to roadworks on the Paphos - Polis road. At 08.30 they arrived and three more cheerful and obliging blokes it was difficult to imagine. Conversations were had and they began their task. Our Cypriot friend arrived a little later and one of the removal men gave him a hand with the heavier pots.

Before leaving for the new house we chatted briefly about our landlady problems. Tellingly he said that the village was not the same since her husband’s death. A cryptic and very appropriate comment, as it turned out. The removal proceeded at pace and I telephoned the cat lady. About half an hour later the removal men headed off to the new house and she arrived. The cats were ensconced in the en-suite bathroom and it took only a few minutes to “entice and encourage” them into their cat transports.

I was just saying goodbye to her, and paying her for her expert services, when another car drove down the track. Out of the car came the landlady, almost at a run. Wild-eyed and seemingly manic, she shouted that this was her property and she was coming in now. I pointed out that 17.00 was the agreed time. No response but she lunged at me (our cat lady said she thought she was about to assault me). Another woman appeared and this was the Australian “lawyer”.

Like a whirling dervish the landlady went from room to room screaming at the top of her voice. I asked the Australian what was happening. No response. Then a telephone call was made by the landlady to the man I assumed was our lawyer (conflict of interest) who the Australian advised me had told the landlady I should vacate the property immediately.

At this point I thought “sod it”. I had photographed the electricity and water meters, and made a video of the inside of the house and the garden. No more to be done. I drove off, only pausing to switch the electricity off at the end of the road. And then to the electricity shop to request disconnection of service. I had kept Ann informed of all of this, and she was understandably concerned for my welfare.

Once I arrived at the new house, I settled down to a cold beer or two. The worst was over, and that was that. Oh no, dear reader. The events progressed apace. In the early afternoon we received a call from the guy who was removing the fence for us. Despite bearing a document from us that gave him permission to remove the fence, the landlady had come out and accused him of stealing her property. She then called the police. Our man was detained, leaving us to try and sort matters out. The police wanted proof that the fence was ours (we had paid cash and had no receipt). Phone calls to the guy from the garden centre who had done to the work and to the lawyer (who denied to Ann that he had told the landlady I should vacate the property immediately (Who to believe? Conflict of interest?).

The final nail in the coffin was that our man messaged us and told us an “Amicable Solution” had been reached and he was allowed to take half the fencing. Amicable! I don’t think so. The landlady ended up with €375 of our fencing. Ye Gods!Our blood boils with the memory.

Local readers who know us, and the house, and the personalities concerned , will be astonished. The house will no doubt be on the rental market. Interested parties would be advised to proceed with the utmost caution if they want to deal with a venal, mendacious and greedy family who would not know the truth if it bit them where the sun doesn’t shine.

The good news is that we are living in the most beautiful house in friendly and agreeable surroundings, and are very happy. It’s been a month and the scars run deep. But we got through it and, in my view, good triumphed over evil.

Annus Horribilis Part 2 …

Little did we realise the storm that was about to be unleashed after the death of the landlady’s husband. We had rented our bungalow for nearly twelve years. For the first eight years the rent was unchanged, and then - four years ago - it was proposed the rent would rise by €50 a month. This was more than fair, and we accepted the proposal. Under the Rent Control Act, rents for certain properties were restricted to rises every two years of about 6%. We never knew whether our bungalow was covered by this, but the landlady’s husband was surprised when I mentioned it to him. Two years later, another (quite expected) rise of €50 was proposed and we accepted that. Negotiations were amicable, and we were aware that rents were rising all over the island.

Our tenancy agreement was due to be renewed at the end of June, but nothing was mentioned. We paid the rent on time (as we had always done) and Ann and I agreed that we should mention this to the landlady. It became apparent that she had no idea the tenancy agreement was due for renewal but we felt it was the honourable and correct thing to do. Ann was met with an apparent unwillingness to discuss it, and our attempt to pay the rent was rebuffed. We tried twice more and then “I am raising the rent”. No discussion, no negotiation  - just a flat 15%+ rise.

Ann and I said “No” - bearing in mind no new tenancy agreement was proposed. And to exacerbate the situation, only for twelve months. What a bombshell. We immediately went into “Let’s sort this out” mode, and on that very day saw the most beautiful house in another village. We telephoned the agents, had a viewing that afternoon and fell in love with the house, its environs and the village it was in. One look at Ann’s face was enough to know. I asked the agent how we could proceed and he explained that we were the third couple to view the property that day. I offered to pay the month’s deposit that afternoon.

A long phone call ensued with the owner (a lady lawyer in Nicosia) and whatever the agent said it was enough. She would drive from Nicosia on Sunday to meet us and take things further. Sunday came and we got on well with her, paid the deposit in cash and signed a detailed and correctly drafted tenancy agreement. One snag - the property was not available until the beginning of September. Patience required.

No word from the landlady in Argaka until her daughter telephoned and said she wished to view the property and discuss things. A meeting was arranged with her mother and her at the house but they did not show up or let us know they were not coming. Texts and phone calls followed with a more demanding and strident tone. Ann telephoned back and was told the daughter would arrive at ten o’clock the following morning and - if she was refused entry - would call the police to have us evicted. And she had decided the rent would rise by 23%+. Tempers flared and Ann is not one to back down when threatened.

For our own protection we engaged a Cypriot (English speaking) lawyer, who became the intermediary and finally managed to take the steam out of the situation. It was agreed we would pay the current rent for July and August (although the majority of August’s rent would be made up of the deposit held from twelve years ago). A visit to the house was arranged for the landlady, accompanied by her son, to “inspect the house”. What a farce that turned out to be! The son (whom we knew) obviously did not want to be there, and translated (accurately, we obviously did not know) for his mother. She stomped around the house, like a silent banshee.

Surprises there were, especially when we told her that the gas hob and electric oven were ours (with receipts) and we did not intend to leave them there. They were offered to her for a reasonable price and the son promised he would telephone over the next two days to let us know. We never heard another word.

It was as a result of that meeting that we came to the decision that we would not leave anything of ours behind. We would offer for sale anything we did not require for our new home, and what we could not sell, we would give away or even have taken to the municipal dump. Over the succeeding weeks we managed to sell both kitchen islands, the gas hob, the electric oven, the sofa bed, the Ikea chest of drawers, the swimming pool rail, the timing mechanism for the irrigation (and gave away the irrigation system we had had fitted). We did not sell the corner cabinet and the matching bookcase, and they fitted in perfectly to our new home. The other sofa, and some artwork, we had transported to the end of the lane and posted the coordinates on Facebook. They were picked up the next day and we trust the person who came to pick them up, enjoyed them. 

The story of the chain link fence, the Australian “lawyer”, and the Police will feature in the third part of this blog, dear reader, and you should be ready to have your “flabber well and truly gasted”. 

Annus Horribilis Part 1 …

 This has been a memorable year for all of the wrong reasons and it has contained the stuff of nightmares and many tears. And the most awful thing is that most of what has happened was unnecessary, and outside of our control. But, dear reader, we have come out of the experiences stronger and in a better place. But the cost to us as people has been immense. Ann’s strength and my obstinacy have been essential but I would not have wished 2025 on anyone.

At the end of last year we were coming to terms with the unexpected death of our darling dog, Daisy. Nothing anyone can say will persuade us that her death was unavoidable. The vet, with his complacent attitude, sent us away after pain-killing and anti-emetic injections and told us to return in a “couple of days”. Twenty-four hours later Daisy died in the early hours of the morning in our arms. “Forgive and Forget” - no chance.

Never again, we told each other. No more pain. But after the good counsel of a lady we knew, we started looking for another dog (not a replacement by any means). The charities running the various pounds and shelters were useless, staffed by well-meaning amateurs - who on more than one occasion led us up the proverbial garden path. And then the lady, who had advised us to take on another rescue dog as a companion, got in touch. She had seen a lovely dog on Facebook who needed a new home as his owner could not cope with the way her life was developing.

She bought the dog to meet us and he was the sweetest dog imaginable. The lady loved our home and took to us, and we all agreed to think things over for a couple of days. Decisions were made and we drove to Paphos to meet her and take him home with us. An “interesting” journey back and Oscar (as he was to be called - she had called him Oski) became part of the family. Looking like a long-legged Dachshund (we discovered he is mainly Mini Pinscher), he immediately found our bed, jumped up and made himself at home.

OSCAR AT REST

The rest, of course, was not straightforward. Being the breed (and crossed with an unknown type) he is an escape artiste par excellence. Our garden and gate were easily bypassed and we came to the decision we would need some form of mesh to keep him in. Our gardener put up a green mesh plastic fence, which cost a small fortune. Αnd Oscar chewed through it and was off to pastures new over and over again. Eventually our local garden centre came and constructed a chain-link fence at considerable expense to ensure his safety (€750). And still he escaped - twice they returned and finally the garden was secure. Ann was understandably irate with the gardener who told us he only agreed to put the mesh up because we had bought it. He left our employ shortly after.

Oscar has been with us about a year now and has proved to be a perpetual delight. Without any knowledge of his life before he became part of our family, it was soon apparent that he distrusts men. Goodness knows how he might have been mistreated by them in the past. However he has accepted me and trusts me, although he is very much Ann’s dog.

In March the unexpected happened. Our landlady’s husband, a man of honour and integrity, was taken ill one afternoon and died a couple of hours later. Our dealings for the last twelve years (as far as the house was concerned) had always been with him and, without exception, he had treated us fairly. But, unbeknown to us, the situation was about to change dramatically and for the worse.

That part of the year will be dealt with in Part 2, published in the next few days.