Home loans

Home loans. Grrrrr!

As I wrote in a previous post, we are in the long, ever more protracted process of buying a house here in Muroran. What we thought would be a relatively pain free experience has turned into a grim, grubby ordeal, akin to Ireland's scrummage at Twinkenham last Saturday - lots of effort, very little gain.

To give you the Reader's Digest version of events: Back in January we went to our local bank, the Hokkaido Bank (henceforth referred to as 'them feckers'), to apply for a home loan. As Sanae and myself are both in public jobs, we are about as gilt-edged, triple A+ worthy loan applicants as you can be - the sort that are highlighted in the bank's end of year financial report to show just how prudent they are in dealing with their mortgages. So first day, smiles all round as them feckers gladly handed over the application forms, told us to sign here, here and here.

We left. Then the trouble started. First up was my 'Johnny foreigner' status. Them feckers call a week later to say because I'm not a rice eating native, I can't go guarantor on the loan. Explain it's the law. It's not, as it turns out, they are just hiding behind that an excuse to mask their latent xenophobia. Then them (racist) feckers call again another week later to say that because of Sanae's prior health problems, the insurance company (henceforth referred to as 'them arses') insuring the loan aren't happy. They want a medical certificate from Sanae's doctor. This takes two weeks to get from the hospital. Then, remarkably, after we have submitted this, it takes them feckers and them arses a further two weeks to read the one page medical certificate and decide that Sanae is too much of a health risk to insure. So them feckers reject our loan application. Sanae has to be physically restrained from fire-bombing the bank building.

However, all is not lost. As the mendacity of them feckers and them arses was becoming ever more apparent, we decided to apply to a more 'Johnny Foreigner' friendly bank (henceforth referred to as the 'Johnny Foreigner' friendly bank). Even though I don't have permanent residency here in Japan, they will accept an application in my name regardless of the fact that I prefer potatoes to rice. As my health is a wonder to behold, there are no issues with the mandatory loan insurance and Sanae can go co-guarantor on the loan without having to submit a health certificate.

The only drawback is that the 'Johnny Foreigner' friendly bank is based down in Tokyo, so everything is via the post which slows things down considerably. Which in turn has had a knock on effect with the house. We were due to assume legal ownership of the house today, the first of March, with the intention of moving in by the end of this month (the house has been used as a show house up until yesterday), but thanks to gombeen antics of them feckers and them arses, that isn't going to happen.

We have been keeping the house developer updated on our progress, or rather lack of progress, in obtaining a loan, but as the days moved closer to the official close-of-contract day, tensions rose. Well, specifically, Sanae's tensions rose. I was my usual human manifestation of infinite karma, while Cian was too excited by the fact that he had just had his first poo in the 'big toilet' (see Sanae's blog for details of that breaking story).

On Wednesday night we got a call from the developer. Sanae was in the bath with Cian so I took the call. He wanted to speak with Sanae but when I explained, he said fine, he'd call back in a fifteen minutes or so. I relay this to Sanae when she emerges from the bathroom. Naturally, she assumes the worst - we can't get the loan so they want to cancel the contract and refund our deposit because they have another buyer lined up. Thunderstorm clouds swirl around her still wet head.

I, as always, begin singing a haunting four session Tibetan healing chod from the beautiful liturgy of Chenrezi, the bodhisattva of compassion, to calm her down, but extraordinarily, it has no discernible effect.

I sing louder.

Sanae tells me to shut up. She wants to ring back the developer back and beg for financial mercy. She asks me the name of the caller as they are a father and son outfit. I reply, in between verses of the chod, that I didn't catch the name, but I think it was the father.

We don't have the father's mobile number, so Sanae rings the company office to see if anyone there can give it to her. It's 8.30 in the evening and this being Japan, of course there is somebody still in the office. He gives us the father's number. Sanae calls him. The old man doesn't have a clue what Sanae is on about. Hasn't rung us at all. Sanae apologizes profusely and shoots me a look, which had I not been concentrating on the teachings of Kunzang Denchen Lingpan on the nature of mind instructions, would have disemboweled me.

The old man calls us back. He has checked with the office and nobody there called us either. But he'll keep trying. By now the office is, we imagine, on full alert, sirens blaring, people sliding down poles and rushing to their desks to try and contain the fallout from the mysterious 'Gaynor' phone call.

Sanae tries calling the son, but can't get through to him. Old man calls back; am I sure somebody from the company called? Yes, I am. In the background you can hear hysterical shouts of despair as mass panic grips the company. I offer to chant the Avalokiteshvara, the great mantra of world peace, over the phone, but Sanae throws the phone at me instead. Cian thinks this is better than watching wrestling on the television.

Another call from the old man. He can't contact his son either. Doesn't know what is going on. There is an unsteady edge to his voice. Hysteria lurks close by. In the background is the sound of small arms fire. He says he won't call anymore tonight, doesn't know if he ever will again. The forces of darkness, he mutters, are closing in...

Sanae has to be sedated before she can fall asleep, fearing that the phone call, my Buddha-given inability to take a simple message, and the subsequent uproar our return calls caused, have ensured we will never darken the door of our home to be.

All is explained the next day when the son rings, for yes, dear reader, it was him, to apologize for the confusion and proffer an explanation: with the delay in our home loan approval, he wanted to officially change the contact closing date to the first of April and had sent us some documents to sign. Sanae collapses, the release of tension too much for her; I return to my Samatha 'calm abiding' meditations, while Cian has another big boy poo in the toilet.

Phew!