MANNERS maketh the man do a good job selling his property. According to a survey by estate agents Tepilo, the behaviour and personality of the person selling a hoose can make or break the sale.

Hmm. My problem is I’m too honest. I start pointing out all the faults in the place as I sincerely want potential buyers to have the full picture. (“I did the floors myself. They’re a bit rubbish but you could get someone in to do them properly. Now, did I mention the cockroach problem?”)

At least that’s how I start off. It’s some time since I sold a hoose and I’m pretty sure that, the more desperate I became, the more I covered up, dissembled and exaggerated. (“This house, madam, is as close to heaven as you will see this side of your inevitable death. Death, which awaits us all! What? Come back! You’ve left your hat.”)

But I’d certainly agree that good manners must help in the whole disagreeable business. I bought a house once because I thought the seller seemed kind.

Of course, I’ve been sold pups time after time. My first question is always: “Is it noisy?” Not one seller has ever said: “Oh yes. Can’t hear yourself think for doomph-doomph-doomph music, wooden floors overhead, and constant banging and clanging from the business premises next door.”

According to the survey, a well-kept garden, cleanliness, new decor and fresh flowers also help: four things that my properties only ever have when I’m about to sell them.

Once, I went to see a flat that was a midden, with clothes, junk and dishes lying all over the joint. On opening the door to inspect the bedroom, I found a fully-clothed man lying comatose amidst the bedlinen. When I attempted to remove him, using ju-jitsu I’d seen in a film, he threatened to summon a constable.

Apart from slumbering inhabitants, other factors that put buyers off include mould, smells, clutter and too many pets. But you can get rid of three of these easily and, besides, buyers are supposed to see through such snags to the property’s real potential. Not really my thing, though. I like everything done and dusted.

If I want a veggie burger I don’t expect it to be half-cooked. I want it ready to eat, piping hot with nicely browned chips, a personalised napkin and a note from the buxom waitress saying that she fell in love with me as soon as I stepped through the door. But that’s me: high expectations.

The lowdown from this survey is that house-sellers should be polite and engaging. But don’t mention the cockroaches. And get rid of the sleeping man.