Other Posts by Hapless Investor

• Be careful what you wish for 'cos you just might get it
• You can't always get what you want,
• Just when you though it was safe to go back in the water...
• Drying out
• It never rains but it pours
• The hand that rocks the cradle
• Career advice for the uninitiated.
• When the going gets tough...
• Would you Adam & Eve it?
• Reality Bites
• Buy two get one fee!
• The withdrawal method
• Home coming
• A tale of two cities
• Manchester and The CPO
• The rise of the text sick note, and the email rent avoidance excuse.
• The best laid plans of Mice and Men - and slugs named Nigel
• The cost of property developing
• The story so far

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Mancunian madness

By Hapless Investor

Armed with a provisional equity release on the London home I started trawling the property websites and following our recent visit, Manchester seemed as a good a place as any to start.

 Levenshulme, the place where we'd seen Death Trap House, was now (3 months later) completely out of our budget. Properties which had been in the £25 - £30k bracket when we'd first gone up there were now £60k+, cue lots of kicking ourselves. But in North Manchester there were other areas still within our measly budget and within commuting distance of the centre.

 Having hit paydirt online I started calling estate agents eager to make viewing appointments for the weekend.

 I don't really understand estate agents. Their job is to act as a facilitator between those with money looking to buy and those with property looking to sell. Much like a supermarket selling potatoes and toilet tissues to customers with sufficient money to buy those potatoes and toilet tissue. So why is it that when I go into Tesco or the like they seem quite happy to deal with me and my cash and yet estate agents often feel it's acceptable to look down their noses at me and treat me a s a nuisance rather than as an integral part of their job?

This was definitely the case in Manchester, although I've had similar experiences in Reading and Bristol.

The Manchester estate agent was dismissive of my call (made surreptitiously from work of course) and then was exceedingly reluctant to take me on any viewings.

Fortunately I am nothing if not bloody minded, and eventually the estate agent agreed to show me 6 properties provided I did not exceed a 30 minute slot.

Having taken the train up to Manchester and the bus to the area of Moston I was reliant on the estate agent to take me from property to property very much against his wishes. He made it clear that he did not approve of people from London coming up and taking their properties.

Having seen 2 former drug dens, one of which the estate agent refused to go through the door of, and rapidly running out of time I was told I could see only one more property and in fairness the estate agent did say that this was probably the most suitable of the lot.

And despite the fact that I was seething at his rudeness I had to agree. The Victorian terrace house had two bedrooms and two reception rooms, a small kitchen and a small yard out the back. The street was nice, with the beautiful types of gardens that only seem to come with retired people and the cars in the street were all Vauxhall Vectras and Rover 75 series all less than 5 years old and all worth as much as the houses themselves.

The house was habitable, although obviously in need of TLC, and yet it had a very reasonable price tag. The estate agent made it clear that our time was up and left me to wander around the neighbourhood. Two streets away there were houses boarded up both with wood and metal screens but then two streets in the other direction there was a brand new community sports centre and a new ASDA. A new build housing estate was being built behind the supermarket and the whole area seemed to be giving off the vibe of a diamond in the rough. Granted at present, more rough than diamond, but things seemed to be moving in the right direction.

I came home, made an offer to the estate agent and started the ball rolling. The estate agent refused to even put the offer to the vendor until I could provide evidence that I had cash in my bank account, fortunately I'm a wiz with Photoshop. The vendor agreed and I booked the survey.

When the survey came back though we were in for a hell of a shock. The house was riddled with damp and a million other problems resulting in the valuation coming in at only £7000 and the final line of the report saying in capital letters: DO NOT BUY THIS PROPERTY.

I faxed the report to the estate agent who after discussions with the vendor claimed that the report was false, grossly exaggerated and a feeble attempt to try and renegotiate the price. They had a point with the last thing. I may have thought originally I was getting a good deal paying £27k for a 2 bed house but knowing it was officially only worth £7k did put a different spin on it.   

The problem is that Bloody Mindedness that I mentioned earlier doesn't always work in my favour. I had decided to buy the property and even though everyone and everything was telling me not to, I still wanted to buy that property.

We went back to the drawing board. We decided that we could rent out the London property, live in the Manchester property, do the repair jobs as we could, and the very low mortgage (apportionment from the equity release on the London property) would mean that we could downgrade to part time jobs giving us quality time together. The people I'd met up there (with the exception of the estate agent) had been phenomenally welcoming and it seemed like not just a housing estate but a community that I would really like to be part of.

Maybe this would be the best thing that happened to us. 

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