Pyjamas, slippers, maybe a half-eaten biscuit nearby… and yet, at 9:00 AM your house is listed, and by 3:00 PM, contract signed, above listed price. No sweat, no jazz hands, no “trust me, I’m a closer” routine. It’s like watching a magic trick where the magician never bothers to show you his hands because he’s too busy making a sandwich. He’s the superhero version of all those clichés, the hustle of a shark, the gift of the gab, the smooth operator, but in practice, he’s just “yeah, sorted it” It’s infuriatingly charming, and somehow it works every time.


