The situation is fresh, at least – not so much the estate agent part of it, and the tosser-typers therein, but north London’s Greek-Cypriot community. What is that cool wind sending a shiver through you suddenly? Is it the “airiness” (Storm Hector, practically) coming under the badly fitted door of the flat Stath is showing you around and wants £1,750 pcm for? Or is it the ghost of David Brent passing, 17 years on? The loud, UPPER-CASE IMBECILE, lacking in self-awareness, although not entirely unlovable.
Always “I’m an idiot”, although he says this without actually saying it, just through everything he does.
Sometimes it’s “many happy returns”, not because it’s their birthday, just for a little joke, you know, to break the ice.
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