In the quiet town of Rickmansworth, the biggest commotion was usually the annual duck race down the canal, the highlight of the May canal festival. Dustin, an unassuming estate agent, a man who struggled to be even half as interesting as watching cars rust, found himself in a peculiar situation. He was busy preparing listings for two quaint cottages and a large bungalow in nearby Croxley Green when the skies above Rickmansworth erupted in a gouting cacophony of thunder and lightning.

To Dustin's amazement, a bunch of Norse gods descended on to his neatly manicured lawn. 

“That’s amazing,” he thought, predictably.

Thor, his hammer crackling with divine energy, greeted him with a booming voice that rattled the windows of nearby houses. "Fear not, mortal! We have come to reclaim our place among the pantheon of gods!"

Dustin blinked, then blinked again, wondering if he'd accidentally mixed his morning coffee with something stronger. But before he could protest, Odin, with his singular eye gleaming with ancient wisdom, added, "And we've brought along a few... friends from the underworld."

From behind the gods slithered creatures straight out of nightmares. Fenrir, the oversized wolf, bared his teeth in a manner that would make even the bravest estate agent reconsider his career choices. And alongside him slithered Jörmungandr, the world's least-friendly pet snake, which eyed Dustin with an unsettling hunger.

Dustin gulped, wishing he'd taken that vacation to Estapona when he’d had the chance.

But as the gods explained their mission - to find a suitable mead hall in Rickmansworth from which to plan their divine comeback - Dustin realised he had a unique opportunity. After all, who better to find the perfect property than a seasoned estate agent?

With a hesitant smile, Dustin led the gods and their monstrous entourage on a tour of Rickmansworth's finest listings. They inspected quaint cottages, suburban mansions, and even a converted fulling mill (though Thor wasn't convinced it met his thunder-god standards).

Amidst the normally dull dirge of house-hunting, Dustin couldn't help but find the absurdity of it all somewhat amusing. Here he was, negotiating with gods and monsters over floor plans and garden layouts, as if it were just another day at the office.

In the end, the gods settled on a sprawling modern, deceptively spacious, H. Des. Det property with spacious gdns, 5 Bed, 3 Bath, w/c, fully fitted kitchen, modern conservatory, and a mooring overlooking the canal, much to Fenrir's delight (apparently, he was a fan of waterfront properties). And, to some consternation from the fun-busting solicitors and financial nay-sayers, the gods, after some thundering from Thor, paid cash on the nail. All done and dusted within the day.

“That’s amazing,” thought Dustin, again, predictably.

As the gods and their entourage disappeared into their new home, Dustin breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his day had finally returned to some semblance of normalcy. He was also pleasantly aware that, with his commission, he would be able to upscale his holiday from Estapona to Bermuda.

And while Rickmansworth may never be the same after its encounter with the divine, it is a place well used to constant change. Dustin couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of regaling his canal pals down in the White Bear with the tale of how he had helped the Norse gods find their dream home. Next thing you know, someone will build a hotel where Travis Perkins used to be.