The coalition guide to a middle-class lifestyle.

I’m not political, in my game you have to deal with all sorts, I even work with lawyers. However, now that the Right Honourable Dave Cameron has declared himself middle-class and what with him having £70m in the bank and a Baronets daughter for a wife, it seemed to me that those of us who thought we were middle class had better up our game.

I have been deep undercover (Sloane Square), to bring you the guide on how to move undetectably through the ranks of the coalition babes. It’s never been more important to have a middle class home and lifestyle. Here’s my guide to what’s in and what’s out. All hail Sam Cam.

What’s in?

Boris bikes. For when you don’t want to get the brand new Range Rover Sport out, nothing shouts ‘I’m coalition middle-class’ better than one of Boris’ bikes.

Audi R8 . drive it round Notting Hill streets dead fast, especially when you’ve got nowhere to go.

Staff. Yes, you can call them that again. even though last year you called her an au-pair. Make sure they’re multi-lingual but preferably Mandarin speaking, East European is so last year. In addition, a Filipino maid sleeping off the kitchen is the pinnacle you should aspire to.

Ballerina flats. Blue for Waitrose, Red for the school run, (so the  Mums think you’re racy), and Animal skin for Kir Royales with the girls.

Byrons Burgers. Posh burgers and Boris’ favourite family watering hole. There are no plastic gifts for the kids which is obviously a  good thing.

Brio. Wooden toys for the kids are de rigeur. They won’t play with them but that’s not the point. They cost a bomb and they’ll look fab on the shelf

Laduree macaroons. Five quid a bite.

Chandeliers in the kitchen. Yep, I know, how d’ya get the chip fat off all those dangly bits?  Please! That’s the Filipino’s problem.

Lacanche. French range cooker. Get the blingiest one you can, the more gold the better. Stretch yourself and go for the £37k one.

Dyson air multiplier, only for show, who needs a fan in the UK anyway but they are expensive and everyone knows that, so perfect.

Daylesford organic, favoured watering hole for Yummy Mummies. Eight quid for coffee and a cake shows everyone you have money to burn, which is the point, innit.

Festivals,  Pricier, colder and far more miserable than a week in Barbados but you’ve gotta be seen there. No tents, it’s got to be a Yurt or a Winnebago. It’s all about ‘Glamping’ these days.

Flat White. Cappuccino’s and lattes are so last year. The flat white is the only one to order, it’s erm, not frothy man.

X Factor. Simon Cowell is rich, he’s blingy and he’s unrepentant. Your perfect role model, watch it.

Apropos glass box extensions. Bolt them onto your Edwardian semi for that contemporary feel of space and light. Ignore the soaring temperature and the green slimy roof you can’t reach to clean.

Harrods. Trust me, Qatari’s are much cooler than Egyptians… Watch out Selfridges.

Kiehls moisturisers and shaving stuff for men. Just make sure your purchase comes in a Harvey Nicks bag for perfect metrosexuality. Less than 16 squids on shaving foam? Shame on you.

Baby names. If it’s a boy, name it after a pet. Felix, Oscar, Buddy. For girls name it after a place. Florence, Sienna, India. I shall gloss over the fruity ones thanks Gwyneth Paltrow.

Monmouth coffee. Never heard of it? Tsk.. it’s the only coffee to have in your skinny flat white.

Garden office. Insulated, heated, and painted in one of the latest ice cream coloured pastels. Gingham curtains and you’re all set for that ‘Calamity Jane does the coalition’ look.

Skandium. Scandinavian furniture. Sorry, Scandinavian furniture that’s even too expensive for the Scandinavians, so they sell it in Knightsbridge.

Divertimenti. When you’ve been in Skandium pop down the Brompton Road and buy all your kitchen stuff here. No, £35 for a melon baller is not too expensive.

Superhuman. If you don’t have this bin, the two compartment recycling one,  your truly middle-class guests will truly gasp in horror.

Google Street view on your car Sat Nav… OK, it only comes on the new Bentley Continental, but whats wrong with that? Just make sure it’s Azure blue.

iPhone 4, iPad, anything Apple. Obviously.

Photo volcaic anything. Inefficient, expensive and ugly. Attach to the roof to make sure your neighbours can see them, they shout ‘I’m rich, so can afford to look green’.

Sub-Zero. The only fridge freezer to have. Ten grand, don’t argue.

M&S frocks, befriend the chairman to have a bespoke one made. Ideally it should have a pussy bow for that real Tory wife style.

Wellies. Jimmy Choo or the latest Hunters are the only ones to have. Multi-coloured Cath Kidston-esque ones are only for Chav’s. There.. I’ve said it.

What’s out?

Aga. Not blingy or expensive enough. As for the Emma Bridgewater spotty one, it was never in.

Cath Kidston, at blo*dy last. Seeing her oven gloves on the reduced shelf at T.K. Maxx made my 2010.

G-Wiz. Apart from looking ridiculous, owners are discovering the £3k cost of a new battery. Coming to a tip near you soon.

Henna Tattoo’s. Embraced your ethnicity?… No of course you didn’t look patronising and silly.

Prosecco. It’s the real stuff or nuffink.

Cupcakes. So last year sorry… it’s all about Macaroons for you now.

Fairtrade. ‘Fraid that’s a bit last year what with all them air miles. Supporting the Cotswold smallholder who hand washes his fake parma hams is much more Dave.

Green and Blacks chocolate… they sell it in Somerfield for God’s sake.

Prius. Laughing stock, don’t do it.

Au Pairs. See ‘staff’ above. ‘Au pairs’ doesn’t work anymore. Kerry Katona has one.

Nespresso. The beloved ‘pop it in’ plastic coffee maker beloved of Journo’s and Foxtons receptionists is out. Simples.

Feature walls. How long could anybody look at cerise and silver peonys the size of your head anyway.. good riddance.

Just when we’d learned to drink Prosecco instead of Champagne and almost felt good about driving a Prius, we now need to up the ante on overt consumption. Just think 1980’s. If your Mother says it’s a waste of money, you’re right on the money, because the ‘innest’ thing of all is CASH. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.

Another day, another thirty million quid apartment.

A cocktail party for the launch of a London apartment. A golden ticket that I am thrilled to get my hands on. At £6000 per square foot, these apartments are going for at least three times the amount of their close neighbours and the hype and paranoid secrecy surrounding them is intoxicating. I’m on a mission. How is a flat in what looks like an office block  worth thirty million quid? I shall be mentally cost calculating all the extra special bits trying to work this out.

But first, what to wear? It’s got to be fab. I will be mixing with the exotica of Europe. Out comes the little black dress, a tad too much decolletage but nothing ventured. Bugger, every pair of tights has holes in the toes. Pashmina, black and beaded.

Then the shoes, Oh yes, this is definitely best shoe time. Stratospheric Mui Mui’s with a splash of gold.

I’m early, so make myself comfy at the Wild Bean cafe in Shepherds Bush to avoid paying Boris his eight quid. A quick tuna sandwich and a lucozade to keep me sprightly, then off to stand on a street corner to await my Inviter.

Down an alley to the back entrance where there are lots of very serious PR blondes with clip-boards checking names. The most officious Annabel leads us through a makeshift builders tunnel to the lift.  We are joined by a couple of Eastern Europeans and ascend. We have to wait in the common area before being ushered down very wide corridors to the apartment. More Annabels and horror of horrors lines of white towelling hotel slippers. Oh God. Cocktail dress, decolletage and slippers. I am not the only one looking horrified, a crowd of the richest people in Europe being removed of their Loubotins and Gucci’s are singularly unamused. However, they have the benefit of a few more inches than me. I have shrunk to midget proportions. All thoughts of networking with the great and rich disappear with my heels.

So we are ushered inside where it’s dark and glittery. Champagne is handed out by a pretty French boy. They are non-crystal flutes and frankly the canapes are rubbish. Hmm, very non-£30m.

Oh God, here comes the sales guy. ‘Hello, I’m Lucien from Frank Savills,  (or something like that).

Lucien whisks us down the wide hallway to the reception room, definitely not a lounge. He is keen to get us to the wow factor fast. A wall of glass overlooking a park, very nice, worth a few quid that view. Seen the furnishings before, a lot. It’s all dark taupes and gunmetals.. velvets and satins. Looks like some Chelsea housewife walked into Peter Jones and asked for anything expensive.

The usual Tom Ford coffee table book and fine art catalogues, yawn. Silk rugs on dark oak stained flooring. Fabric walls and hammered nickel panels.

We are led back down the hall, nickel door furniture is pointed out several times. What does that cost? Hundred quid a pop? Fabric on the walls with large panels of beaten bronze with lovely patina. Very Jason King of  Department ‘S’..

Onto the master suite, well not really a suite. Just a bedroom really, not much bigger than mine and yours. Usual satin and fur bed but at least we’ve been spared the artfully placed silk undies.. Usual telly set into the wall. Silk carpeting, almost black. I can tell it’s silk through the toe holes in my tights.

Lucien points to the ceiling. It’s chilled he says, I maintain a straight face. ‘Cold air circulates above providing sound-proofing and a cooling environment’. I’m on it like a whippet…. ‘So,  is sound-proofing a problem?’ A ten minute rebuttal ensues.

The en-suite is arrived at through a bank of wardrobes. Leather clad and padded like Wimpy banquettes. The bathroom is red Tuscan marble, loads of it. The sink is carved from a whole chunk. The shower has a rain shower thingy.

Molton Brown – that’s a surprise, how very John Lewis. I was expecting extract of some rare rainforest orchid at the very least.

Walls again – polished plaster, I’m told. That’s polished cement to you and me. Lots of hammered nickel panels set onto fabric backdrops, yadda,yadda.

Second bedroom, same size as the master- what’s that about? The ‘Master’ pays £30m and his eldest son gets a bedroom the same  size to play his gold-plated X-box in.

The third bedroom, narrow, God it’s narrow, is dressed as a study- put a bed in it and you’d  really have to suck in that stomach to squeeze past the foot of the bed. A cheap trick more akin to Ann Maurice or a Barratt starter home.

4th bedroom Narrow again- this time dressed as a cinema room.. black velvet sofas against the wall facing the predictable telly. Backgammon & Mahjong sets on the crocodile skin coffee table gives that Las Vegas feel, or so someone thinks.

Still struggling to find bits to add up to £30m. The Picasso in the loo would have helped but I suspect they won’t forget to take it. Let’s try the kitchen.

Oh… The off-white glossy Bulthaup kitchen, Gaggenau appliances and chandelier are wholly typical, I mention that I was expecting a bit more.. ‘But’ says ‘Lucien, ‘If you have a dinner party Heston’s team will come and cook for you’… ‘What, for free?’ I ask.  Silly question.

I go for the hard questions… ‘How many have you sold?’ ‘50%’ he says.  ‘What? Even at the front where the bendy bus drivers wave back and Eastenders is drowned out by the honking?  ‘Yes’ he says, colouring slightly.

What’s the service charge? .. ‘Umm, that is to be decided’.

‘So, come on Lucien, you’re not really getting six grand a foot are you? – you can tell me’. There is squirming. Perhaps it wasn’t ‘Frank’  Savills.

So, let’s go back a couple of weeks to an apartment I saw in the next door block. Same sort of bling,  same view, Elton Johns piano. £1800 per square foot. Bottom line, a third of the price. Quite clearly, for some reason that defeats me, it wasn’t as sweet as Candy.

…. all fur coat and no knickers. A Penthouse fit for who?

I often have to try and wheedle out off-market properties for my clients looking for something a bit special.These properties are not be in found in the usual places. Tesco’s/Haarts, in these cases, don’t deliver. The people in the know for these properties rarely have any property background, they tend to fall into the ‘I know a bloke’ category. As such, the leads can sometimes lean towards spurious.

A current client is looking for a classy central London pad, he has quite a bit of cash to splash, well, to be honest, a heck of a lot. I want the right address and I want it downright classy.

I received a well timed call from a contact whose profession is best described as ‘let me know if you want something.. anything’.

” ‘Ere Trace” is the opener .. ”got anyone who wants a stunning penthouse in that posh new place, Building X?” .. ”bloke needs to sell, so it’s a steal at £22m”

If there are two things assured to get my attention, they are ‘bloke needs to sell’  and anything in Building X. They just do not come up and certainly not at ‘deal’ pricing. The use of ‘stunning’ for the thousandth time this week, I ignore.

The viewing takes a bit of organising. Apparently there will be a few ‘representatives’ looking on behalf of VIP bosses and I can tag along.  I am told I have to pretend I am a secretary-my contact feels this brings me respectability.

I meet my client in building X.  ‘Swish’, doesn’t do it justice. The concierges are Armani clad,  the water feature atrium won a prize at Chelsea and a Man United footballer wandered past and smiled.  The building is all I expected and if the price is what they say, I am convinced my client will jump at it. The day is going well.

We sit and wait for the contact .. and wait. Calls are made, seems we are awaiting third contact flying in with the keys. Eventually two blacked-out Mercs.  glide to a stop outside. Four burly men in shades pour themselves out. One at least has a suspicious bulge under his armpit. Their rubber-soled shoes more for quick getaways than fashion I suspect.

Introductions made, only first names of course, then ‘Follow me’, says the lead ‘heavy’ and we leave Building X and cross the road. We head towards a manky Mansion block. A steel gate covers the entrance courtyard and after a bit of railing rattling and bell ringing, we gain access to the central courtyard. We brush past the skips, and up the steps into the chip papered ‘common areas’. In relation to expectations, never has that description been more apt.

The three man lift was not designed for me and two hairy mammoths but we ascend directly into the penthouse.

Much kerfuffle as we are made to remove shoes and place blue plastic bags on our feet. Those rubber soles not much use now I think as the heavies grunt & winge. At least one has odd socks.

I am struck by how tall the windows are and how high the ceilings are. Hang on, something’s not right. The ceiling is glossy black lacquered panels – the windows are reflected to double size. The ceilings are low- creative interior design, hmm.

Colour scheme discussions will be short, the floor is black. The curtains are black. The dining table is black. The soft furnishings, umm, black. Accents of ‘colour’ are restricted to silver curtains and Swarovski knobs.

This is a big, big place. The dining table will seat 30. The bar area with Swarovski inset into the granite has a dozen ostrich skin bar stools. The cinema room is, how can I put it, a cinema.

We all know about dressing homes for sale but this one takes it to the next level. Aside from the Tom Ford coffee table book (black), the Christies Impressionist Auction catalogue and the biggest piece of Lalique I have ever seen, pride of place is given over to a Grand Piano. Slightly worn around the edges it sits a little incongruously in this shiny, sparkling, perfect environment.Then I spot the provenance discreetly engraved on a brass plate ..’owned by Elton John’

God, I’m looking forward to the Master bedroom. It delivers. An oasis of white and the carpet as tested by toes through my plastic bags, is silk. The bedspread is white.. mink.  Now, I am used to seeing tea trays on beds with cup, saucer and plastic flower, this had something a little different. Laid out across the bed, La Perla bra, G string and white stockings. Size zero by rough estimate. I have to confess, a titter did come out and it was audible. I was shot a glance my lead Heavy, which put me firmly back into my secretarial box.

I rattle through the rest of the place including the six bedrooms. SIX bedrooms? ‘Who wants six bedrooms and one reception room?’. I whisper to my contact. A man of the world, he looks at me knowingly and just shakes his head.

We all gather back at the bar and the inevitable ‘Whatcha think?’ question is asked by the key holder. A shiny-suited chap for whom ‘Man at C & A’ would be a sartorial compliment.

‘Bloody fantastic’ says one of the Heavies.

‘Lovely’ I say.

It’s not.  It’s vile. Completely vile.  I cannot imagine who would want it. Well, maybe I can.

The chap with the odd socks is in the corner on his mobile, it sparkles. Clearly a Selfridges Wonder Room purchase.

‘Hey, John’,  he says. ‘How long will it take you to get ‘ere from Cobham?’

Authors disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any real person, any real property, or any real taste is wholly coincidental.

How to choose your Estate Agent

It’s with a heavy heart that most people ask me this question. An air of foreboding tinged with the fear of what they are letting themselves in for. And rightly so. Pick the ‘wrong’ Estate Agent and you could be entering into a life of  Prozac popping. So how do you go about picking your ‘Rupert’ or ‘Darren”?

Lets start with the mysterious world of what an Estate Agent does all day – or what they should be doing.

To analyse properly let’s us take a look at Rupert the perfect Estate Agent. Rupert does everything right.

When Rupert takes on your property he will have done his homework. He will base the asking price on recent comparable sold properties perhaps with a little extra on top.In other words a sensible price. He will have advised you on what if anything needed doing to the property. He will have listened carefully to all your knowledge of your home and he will have picked up a set of keys – as no self-respecting Rupert will expect you to show buyers around.

When it’s ready for marketing, (piccies, HIP’s, board and all that), Rupert will brief everyone in the office on your home and probably give them a guided tour so everyone is up to speed and bought into your home. They will then all rush back to their phones and call out to the database of brilliant buyers- known in the trade as ‘the hotbox’. As this is happening, beautiful photographs of your home will be wending their way through the ether onto every major property portal. And off to the local paper too. If your house is posh or pretty, a bit of Country Life goes down a treat too.

He or the team accompany all viewers around your home, treating them respectfully and getting honest feedback, which is imminently relayed to you. In an equally frank way.The team will all keep calling out to their database, engaging buyers and matching your home to them.  They will weed out the no-hopers. When an offer comes in, Rupert as your main contact will handle the negotiations pushing the buyer to their best price. Rupert will then liaise with all parties throughout the sales process, including your lawyer and the buyers lawyer- ensuring that all bumps are smoothed and information and communication flows freely up and down the chain.

Thats how it should work. But how do you find your perfect Rupert?

• PICK THREE ESTATE AGENTS TO GIVE YOU A MARKET APPRAISAL.

Ask friends and neighbours for their input.

Look at the boards around your immediate area.

Go onto property portals and see who has most locally to you and in your price parameter.

Which Agents sell houses ‘like yours’. No point selling a one bed flat through a country house type Agent.

• THE MARKET APPRAISAL- what to look out for.

Do you like and trust them? You are entrusting your biggest asset to this person, if you don’t like them, don’t instruct them. If you don’t like your Rupert, chances are the buyers won’t either.

Have they brought comparable properties with them. Houses they have sold and similar properties?

Are they giving you a price on the spot? If they have to go away and think about it they may be inexperienced, unless yours is a very unusual property.

If your house is special in some way is he going to look at producing some creative brochures or special advertising.

Will the person you are meeting be your main contact or will you have to talk to every Tom, Dick or Henrietta in the office?

• THE MARKET APPRAISAL- the questions to ask

How many properties similar to mine have you sold in the last six months? There is no set figure but the answer should give you confidence.

How have you come to that price valuation? Has he got examples to back it up? Things that have actually sold.Is he convincing?

Who will be negotiating the sale and managing the sales process? it is much better if it is just one person.

How are you going to market my property? Get specifics on the portals and print mediums.

Do I need to do anything to my home to make it easier to sell and maximise the price? Tell them they are allowed to be honest.

Will you be accompanying all viewings? They really must, it’s their opportunity to relate and help sell to the buyer. (Odd occasions are OK)

Do you do evening and weekend viewings? Not an essential, but you don’t want to spend every saturday showing people around.

How long am I tied into you? If they turn out to be useless after 6 weeks – how quickly can you change Agent without penalty? Check the small print.

• THE ASKING PRICE

This is a recommendation. listen to the reasoning carefully.

Does it make sense? Where and what is his recommendation based on?

Is the price skewed towards what you want and him getting your business rather than reality?

Remember, this is your decision.

• FEES

You can usually negotiate the fee somewhat , but not always. After all, you are paying them for their negotiating skills. But give it a good go!

• SOLE AGENCY, JOINT AGENCY OR MULTI AGENCY?

In most cases sole agency is best.The fees will be lower and the whole team will be more motivated to sell you house and get a full fee.

In some cases joint agency can be valuable. If two agents have a differing marketing reach e.g. for equestrian properties, you could use a specialist company and a mainstream country house agent. However – you will pay a higher fee as both Agents will usually split the fee.

I don’t like multi-agency at all. High fees and you just look desperate to the buying public who will spot you everywhere.Also, the Estate Agents tend to be de-motivated.

So, there you have it. Follow the guidelines and follow your gut instincts. Pick the right Rupert and he will help minimise the stress of moving and squeeze every last penny out of your biggest asset. Pick the wrong one and you’ll be spending a lot of time in that repeat prescription queue.

Written for and appeared at http://www.buyassociation.co.uk Feb.2010.  Not for re-publication.

My AGA saga……..a conundrum

Will the duck egg blue, aubergine and greater spotted AGA be discarded from our Notting Hill basement kitchens? Will the Cath Kidston tea towel ever look as good hanging from an eco-bling stainless steel goliath? The AGA accessories and the Nigella powder blue ones –  what about them?

Do Prius do ovens?

What will the blue, red and cream ones, nestling in Cotswold kitchens be replaced with? Can you bring a lamb to life in a Neff super range without roasting it? Will the labrador leave home? Where to warm the welly liners?

Seems the AGA is the big non-green and terribly un-jolly green giant lurking in kitchens across the land

A dilemma indeed. Should one be admired for ones real or quasi-farmhouse kitchen or risk scorn from eco friends?

What’s it to be?

I’m torn between aubergine and duck egg blue