Engage brain and open your mouth!
My life has been turned on its head over the past few months. I’m told; what doesn’t destroy you makes one grow. I hope so!
I have quit my
Mayfair office, the yacht in St Katherine Docks is for sale and it’s time for a
new challenge. In saying goodbye to
London and hello Sherborne it brought back memories of my second seismic change
of direction in April 1981. The first, leaving Yorkshire for London, is for later.
After six years as a
physical education teacher and a worn out rugby body I decide to retrain as a
Chartered Surveyor, as you do. I knew
nothing about property but my brother was a builder and I had two mates who were
already training. I enrolled with
Reading University (College of Estate Management) to sit my professional exams.
Problem! The minimum entry requirement was two A
Levels and I had one; Geography grade C.
I didn’t work at school. At Loughborough I scraped a Certificate of
Education, not a degree, coming 115th out 120 and the last four failed. The RICS (Royal Institution of Chartered
Surveyors) said as a mature student (What! Mature at 28!) they would swop my
three years doing no studying at Loughborough for the missing A Level.
I had chosen the five year route to qualification whilst working full time. My wife Kerry was also four months pregnant with daughter Emily.
It’s amazing the number of men who change jobs when their partner is pregnant. Did you?
Next I had to get a
job. Easier said than done! One much
esteemed firm (now called DTZ) replied with ‘when we want a trainer for our
partners’ gym, we will let you know’.
The last laugh was mine when I scored the try to beat them in the
semi-final of the National Surveyors’ Rugby 7’s.
After sixty or so
letters (no email in those days) and only one interview, I finally got a
break. I was offered the position of
trainee surveyor at Donaldsons Chartered Surveyors in their Gloucester Road
management department on £4,000 pa. This was half my previous salary as head of
physical education at St Marks Comprehensive School Fulham, where I was on a
formal warning for taking my kids to play rugby on a Sunday, instead of taking
them to Church.
Donaldsons head
office was in Jermyn Street, world famous for men’s shirts and home to Fortnum
and Masons. Every wanabee surveyor (I didn't care, I had a job) eyed promotion to head office as their ultimate goal.
I bought a shiny
brown briefcase and wore a suit for the first time since my wedding day, three
years earlier. Wife, Kerry, dropped me at
Kings X station to catch the Piccadilly line to Gloucester Road.
I was shown into in
a room with five others, an old Victorian lounge, in days gone by. When someone left, (still happens today) the
rest of the office completely asset strip the workstation of anything better
than theirs, and move desks. My desk was
just inside the doorway with my back to the open door. Panic setting in
already. I took off my jacket and placed
it on the chair. I could feel my heart starting to thump, I needed to just keep
a low profile. Five faces were staring
at me as I sat down.
The bloody chair
collapsed! I grabbed the desk for
support, the leg broke and there I was flat on my back with a broken chair,
table leg and the desk balanced on my chest. Five faces turned away, heads
shaking as the sound of contained amusement filled the room. The joke rebounded as I had a brand new desk
and chair delivered by lunchtime.
I had to speak
letters into a microphone (not quite the same as shouting through a megaphone
at a bunch of rowdy teenagers) attached to a tape recorder on a lead. I took
the tape down one floor to Kim and it came back as a letter, with my name on it
to sign and send. It felt good. Also great because I still hadn't learnt to write properly or understand my dyslexia.
I was given 30
blocks of flats to manage with porters, gardeners, lifts and communal central
heating. It is no joke having a boiler, providing hot water and heating to 42
flats in Kensington, break down on Xmas eve and was beyond repair! Especially
as section something of some Housing Act says I have to get at least two quotes
and follow a set consultation process before proceeding.
My client, the
freeholder of said flats, calls me and gives firm instructions. I tell him I am
sorry but can’t agree to what he wants.
We talk and reach an understanding on how to proceed. Phew, that was scary!
Roger, our team
leader and, and top of the list for promotion to head office, lays into me in
front of the others. He shouts ‘that’s not how you speak to clients. You disagreed with him, you put your own
point of view forward. You must show the client total respect at all times’. I
was deflated, said sorry and thought this job is not for me. In those days the client dictated what
happened and, as they were ultimately paying the wages, the surveyors often
agreed. Me being wet behind the ears and only having the manual and college
notes to refer to, had yet to learn the rules.
I never did learn those rules despite many a ‘cash’ offer from clients.
Back to my new job.
Rodney, the management department Partner, was my real boss. He was a Lancastrian lad from a poor
background who taught me how to survive in a world of seemingly clever people.
Rodney was known for his drive and determination and was not averse to speaking
his mind.
One afternoon I
walked into his office and said ‘I have a problem’. He sent me away saying; ‘look at your problem
and come back when you have at least two solutions for us to discuss. The third solution of doing nothing you have
already overcome by being here. Well done’.
I have used his words ever since.
I think it’s called experiential learning.
He took me to a
residents meeting to discuss the three yearly painting of the windows which
were required under the strict terms of the lease. This block (52 flats) had
two sets of opposing residents associations.
Old Money Association wanted the windows painted in the summer when they
were out of town at their country residences.
New Money Association preferred the autumn when their garden parties,
with pimms and cucumber sandwiches, were over.
Each association had barristers and lawyers.
After almost three
hours of arguing, all very politely of course, Rodney stood, called for silence
and asked “do all your windows open?” General nodding. “Do any of them leak?” General shaking. “Good, I’m going to put the lease in my bag
and leave it there for three more years.
Please don’t ask me to get it out again.
See you all next time”, and left.
I followed in his
coat tails as he was muttering ‘that was close, it’s almost closing time and
no-one paints their bloody windows every three years anyway’. We scurried across the road to the nearest
watering hole and settled for a pint of Fullers ESB. I have used it so many times (the lease bit
not the pub) in my surveying career.
Sadly Rodney succumbed to the dreaded C in his prime. He was God in my book.
It was a steep
learning curve but I seemed to thrive on the challenge. After eighteen months I
was handed a new client and his property to manage. It comprised a terrace of
seven buildings in Garrick Street Covent Garden, newly acquired by the Jermyn
Street investment team. It tied in with an urgent college essay I had to write
on how to manage a similar investment. I used the Garrick Street property,
stating how I would let one bit, combine two other bits and change three units
from retail to a wine bar and two restaurants. I also sent an adapted copy of
my essay to the client.
The Jermyn Street
investment partner was livid. I was summoned to his office and told to sit
down. He towered over me ranting ‘how can some unqualified upstart tell my
client what to do’. I was dismissed in no uncertain terms.
Many of you will know of my propensity to anxiety attacks. Oh my god, I could lose my job at the same time as daughter Emily, just three and Kerry heavily pregnant with Chris. I feared the worst, ‘sacked in the morning’.
Word of my encounter
spread, the client liked my report and asked me to implement it. Parts of head
office were in stitches as ‘some unqualified upstart’ had made the investment
partner look a fool. Six weeks later I was invited for a beer, with a different
partner from head office, at the Royal Automobile Club in Pall Mall. This place
was, is, serious opulence, full size marble columned swimming pool in the
basement with sun loungers, gym, dining rooms and even a snooker room. Members were called Sir. Women were not allowed beyond the 'ladies room' at the entrance and could not become a member.
I had no
idea I was about to become a regular for the next two years and get called Sir! Wow, I was offered
the job my line manager Roger had been quietly cultivating. I grabbed it with
both hands and even had tea in Fortnum & Masons to celebrate.
The Universe never ceases to amaze me.
The investment
Partner retired early. Roger, my line manager, was never promoted and left. I
attended his leaving do and reminded him of our first encounter whilst looking
deep into his eyes and smiling.
I had also spotted my first property deal, 302 Liverpool Road Islington. House with 150ft garden and garage top of Orleston Mews, needed refurbishing at £83,000. Borrowed to the hilt planing permission for 5 bed house down garden, Completed October 1984 and son Christopher born 20th December into a building site as you do when need to establish your own life and free yourself from family control. And about to sit your final RICS exams just as the first of 21 Nannie’s arrive. The doc had already prescribed Valium for the panic attacks and stopped my car in Hyde Park to flag down a taxi thinking I was having a heart attack, so anxiety already ingrained.
Where was I?
Oh yes, when I established Lamberts Chartered Surveyors (1st December 1987) the owners of no’s 2-12
Garrick Street, Covent Garden were my first client. I managed the site with
love and affection for the next five years before selling the investment. I
once crawled over a snow covered 1m wide ledge, six floors up, to unblock a
gutter when I couldn't get a builder.
Over the 11 years,
since sending my college essay to the client, I made over £70,000 in fees from
the property. All because I had engaged brain, opened my mouth, talked into a
machine, signed the letter and had the belief in myself to send it to the client.
I had a meeting last
Wednesday with Abbey 104 FM, Sherborne’s local radio station. I'm going to be a
DJ. Hardly seismic but watch this space, it’s time for challenges new!
And the point I am
making is:
Never be afraid to;
Engage brain and open your mouth.
Have a good week.
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