Twice Carl has said the words "fixer-upper", and we are still on the main floor of the house. Everything looks old, tired, and ready to die, the dull stained walls, the chipped wooden trim, the hideous smeared linoleum. "It would have been a real grand old mansion in its heyday", Willie has said already more than once. It was built in 1892, and between the end of the Second World War and the early sixties was a home for unwed mothers. "A school of hard knock-ups", jokes Carl. I alone am laughing. Francois has gone ahead up the staircase and Willie doesn't appear to get Canadian humour. As we check out the eleven bedrooms on the second and third floors Willie wants us to bear in mind that this house is not on any heritage preservation lists, and that the lot could be purchased for redevelopment. What I find particularly striking about this real estate agent is he doesn't at all look like a greedy dishonest shark, more like a young international student recently abandoned here by his wealthy parents...
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