Tonight:
5°c
Recession? Maybe we can work it off
Jackie Annesley17 Feb 2009
"Who'S that man?" asked my seven-year-old, staring at the well-groomed twentysomething who had just handed me a letter and was now heading off to the neighbour's house.
The only people we ever see on our doorstep are postmen, young Poles shoving pizza flyers through the letterbox and dodgy Irishmen trying to convince us we need a new roof. I looked down at the envelope with its "We love Wallingford Avenue" graphic stamped on it and said: "He's an estate agent. I suppose he wants to sell our house."
It was past 5pm yet two of Bective Leslie Marsh's finest young suits were out trying to drum up business in the dark. The please-sell-to-us letter was from their boss and local estate agent king, the lovely Keith Rigby, who could beat a property downturn if anyone could. He'd sold us our house seven years ago, back in an age when estate agents never walked the streets handing out leaflets.
Has the recession suddenly turned these and other Londoners into grafters? It's not just those selling property. Several weeks ago I nipped out to Harrods on the final day of its sale and found myself in front of the perfect white shirt in the Ralph Lauren section - down 70 per cent to £36. "Would you like to try it on?" a voice next to me said. Despite the chaos of the final sales day, she couldn't have been more helpful and I left clutching my green bag feeling as if I'd purchased full- priced couture.
It was the same with The White Company. In a fit of recession depression, I ordered a super-kingsize duvet under which to hide, only to discover on its arrival that it was hopelessly the same width as our kingsize. I had visions of lugging it the post office and rang to complain, even though it was technically my fault for not looking at their sizing. "Ms Annesley, we will have someone come and collect it. When would be convenient?"
This new recession work ethic seems to have extended to better service in restaurants and even to London's local criminals.
Leaving the Westway Sports Centre in W10, I almost stumbled over four shame-faced lads in their bright Community Payback jackets, busy picking up litter from the flower beds. I'd presumed Community Payback - whereby the Probation Service provides free labour courtesy of robbers and the like - was a political myth, having never seen them at work before. Things must be getting tight in Kensington and Chelsea, as here they were in one of the capital's richest boroughs being forced to help keep the streets clean.
Doubtless we'll all be working harder as the recession deepens. And should I have the misfortune to join the great unemployed, I know who to call, Keith. I hear you get a top price.
