I think I’m on fairly solid ground when I say that Wednesday 29 May 2019 was the most expensive lunchtime shopping trip I’ve ever experienced. I do recall one time, when I was but the office junior, being sent out for milk and coming back with a mountain bike. A pretty expensive diversion from lactose-based errands I’m sure you’ll agree. But I’ve never actually bought a house on such a trip. At least I don’t think so. Surely I would’ve remembered?
Quite how we ended up at a house auction on a sunny Wednesday lunchtime is up for debate but I rather think it went something like this;
“Guess how much money we’ve spent on rent since we arrived in New Zealand?”
I was a simple enough question but the answer to which we’d never really considered until now. And it was startling. Not quite enough to fund a small country but enough to make us wince in pain. Was it really that much? Had we really financed someone else’s lifestyle to that degree? A quick, rough calculation was enough to confirm that it was certainly in the right ballpark.
That’s not to say that we hadn’t benefited from the arrangements. We have, for the past four years or so, lived in a really nice suburb and had a home with great views and plenty of space. Add to that, we have been able to walk pretty much everywhere and we’re a stones throw from the beach, parks, shops and entertainment. Yet, despite the conveniences of our current location, it was time to dip our toes in the proverbial housing market. Not, you must understand, to buy but just to look. Have a gander. A good old nosey. Well once thing led to another and as quick as you could say “How much!!?!!” we now find ourselves in the odd position of owning two houses. Well how did we get here? Pull up a chair and I’ll tell you all about buying a house in New Zealand.....
Open Sesame....Street
And so it was that our weekends were no longer as free as they used to be. Rather than galavanting wherever we chose, we spent our weekend attending Open Homes. “Open what?” I hear you mutter. Well in New Zealand rather than be at the whim of a would be buyer, having to drop everything whilst they visit your home and poke around, you simple open up your home for thirty minutes each Saturday or Sunday whilst the hordes descend. Or at least that’s the hope. During those thirty minutes, the estate agents are on hand to handle the crowds whilst you pop out for a coffee. Quite elegant when you think about it and certainly explains the popularity of coffee houses on most New Zealand town streets.
So that was us. Find a few places worth seeing, work out a route and off we went. Exercise and house noseying in one convenient package.
The first few felt a little bit odd. Poking around in drawer whilst the owners were absent but in the presence of other strangers felt a little bit intrusive. Okay a lot intrusive. At least they’d tidied up. It was sort of through the keyhole but instead of trying to identify a famous person, we were intently focussed on imagining our possessions replacing those in the room and wondering could anyone actually have worse taste in soft furnishings?
Eventually, either through the laws of averages or a forced reassessment of expectations, you will visit a home that you could actually consider buying. Now the fun really starts.
Going, going, gone
Despite a cool-ish housing market, sales by auction are still popular in Auckland. Sure, there are some that will advertise an asking price or request you submit a sealed bit but how boring is that? No, what you really want when parting with hundreds of thousands of pounds that you don’t have, is to do it through an auction.
And so this is how we found ourselves, one Wednesday lunchtime, to be sat in a room of people, armed with nothing more than a printed number and a cheque book, waiting for our selected home to appear on the TV screen.
Luckily we were third up. Not too long to wait but enough time to get an understanding of the rules and processes. Unfortunately it was also just long enough to realise what a ridiculous way this was to buy a house.
To avoid getting carried away, and getting ourselves into financial difficulties, we’d agreed a maximum price before we entered. And, just in case in the heat of the moment we forgot what this was, we’d written it down on a Post-it note. In pink pen.
It took somewhat longer than anticipated but eventually we were up.
“Can I get an opening bid for this stylish town house in Newmarket?” came the call of the auctioneer.
Deadly silence. Unbearable silence.
“Really? Who will start me off?”
My hand shot up and and I blurted out the first reasonable number that came into my head. Or at least I thought it was a reasonable number.
“Okay, why not start there?” the auctioneer noted. We were off.
It would’ve been great to report that what followed was a flurry of bids and counter bids as the room ignited a house-buying frenzy. It would’ve been great. But it also would’ve been a lie. It was noting of the sort. We were one of only two bidders. The other party, a young family complete with baby in a push-chair, were just as keen as we were to buy the house. The numbers quickly spun upwards and with each raise of the hand another $10,000 had been spent. Then there was a pause. No counter bid. The auctioneers hammer hovered.
“Any more bids?” She asked before looking at the family with the push-chair and adding “Come on madam, imagine walking past this house tomorrow and it not being yours.” But to no avail.
It wasn’t over yet. We were the lead bidder but hadn’t met the reserve price. In fact we were some way off and would have to make a significantly improved offer. What followed was some tense negotiation, with the real estate agent acting as a go between to the seller who was hidden away in an annex.
We were getting close to our maximum. And even that was rejected.
“I think if you go up another $10k, we can get a deal done”, the real estate agent noted almost confessionally.
We had a pre-agreed maximum. And an agreement is an agreement.
“Sorry, we can’t go any higher”, Sarah noted glancing at the pink writing on the Post-it note.
The estate agent saw the figure we’d written and added “Let me see what I can do” and disappeared into the annex once more.
After what seemed like an eternity, especially with the rest of the room staring at you wondering if this particular lot is ever going to reach a conclusion, he returned.
“You’ve seen off the other bidders so I think if you come up just another $5k we’ll have a deal.”
We stared at each other and glanced at the figure in pink.....It was only $5k........Actually $5k would buy a very nice holiday on a Pacific island or pay for our food for a year. A pre-agreed maximum is......
“Okay.”
And with that he went back to the room and after a short while nodded to the auctioneer. But hold on. We’d only re-negotiated the reserve price. The auction kicked back into life as the room was asked if there was anyone who wanted to put in an improved offer. What tension.
“Going once”
Silence
“Going twice”
Silence. We didn’t dare look anyone in the eye and just started ahead at the auctioneer. Come on bang that hammer. I caught a twitch in the corner of my eye....
“Sold! Congratulations!”
The room applauded, no doubt relieved to be able to get onto more serious business and we were ushered away, being careful not to look the losing bidders in the eye as we left the room.
It’s Settled Then
The one saving grace about buying a house at an auction is that the offer is unconditional. And, this being New Zealand, an unconditional offer is a legally binding agreement. No-one can counter bid. No negotiation. That’s it.
It does make the whole process nip along at quite a pace. From the hammer falling we had three weeks to settle. It certainly focuses ones attention on the matter in hand. What followed was meetings with solicitors, bank managers, removal companies, calls to utility providers and a mild sense of panic. In no more than fifteen working days we would be the owner of the property and ready to move in.
As noted in the sales documents, the settlement date was met and the title of the property was transferred to us. Our second home. That was yesterday.
Now I’m sat in the lounge of our rented house, surrounded by boxes of possessions wondering how on earth we ended up buying another house. That was never the plan. I keep telling myself that it makes financial sense to be putting money into real estate rather than someone else’s pockets - and it does -but I really did think that the next time our possessions ended up in boxes they would be destined to make the return journey to the UK. It does have an uncanny sense of déjà vu about the whole thing. Maybe its the smell of cardboard that’s doing it.
Ah well, the return trip to the northern hemisphere will just have to wait. Instead a short 2km trip up the road will do for now. Right, there’s the beer in the fridge with my name on it.....now if I could only find that bottle opener.....
