Building Confidence - Wednesday

‘There goes another one.’ Announces imbecilic trainee F, as the plate glass office window shakes disturbingly and I wonder where the twenty-four hour emergency glass repair callout number is again. Last time it was either a drunk with the brick, or someone about to be repossessed, returning their failed investment a bit at a time.

‘I always fancied driving one of those.’ Continues F wistfully as the lumbering yellow JCB throbs past, queue of traffic gathering behind. You might be doing that sooner than you think sonny, I think uncharitably, as the cloud of diesel fumes dissipates and the engine noise recedes.

‘I reckon the builders are definitely stirring.’ Proclaims assistant manager T. ‘Do you think they know the market is turning?’ And all eyes turn to me and I feel the weight of expectancy almost as much as the fat chavvy mother-to-be who is now staring in the window - as if in need of my answer too, rather than some belated contraceptive advice.

Second-guessing the market is something I’ve singularly failed to do over two decades plus. Witness the number of times I nearly bought a buy-to-let bargain then choked on the all too familiar downsides. Builders however have to make the tricky margin call, as a new start on site, to sales in the bag, will run to twelve months or so, that’s without the protracted planning process beforehand. Around the patch, cement mixers are beginning to churn.

‘You’ve got a site to look at this afternoon.’ Announces negotiator S with a winning smile and she gives me the location. I’ve watched the hording for some time with the optimistic Coming Soon banner, but now the developer has pushed the button and scaffolding is sprouting above the boundary boards.

‘Too early to call.’ I hedge, returning to prediction mode, appointment locked in my head, possible price projections already rotating like the concrete churners, around my brain.
‘I wouldn’t rule out a double dip.’ Predicts blubbery mortgage man M, appropriately enough stuffing his fat paw into the biscuit barrel for the second time. ‘Some of these companies are going to catch a cold if you ask me.’

The fact is only time will tell, and if multi-million pound taxpayer-funded government departments can’t budget for toffee, there’s no real reason why a glorified bricklayer who made it good, or a washed-up estate agent who didn’t, are going to be any more accurate. I’ve always been slightly off with my timing – just ask my wife.

Pulling up outside the site later, I’m still running square footage prices and local comparisons around my head, as I gaze at the sprouting buildings that are going to dwarf the older homes surrounding the in-fill site. The front gate is swung back, festooned with multiple health and safety notices, and the road stained with clay-coloured heavy vehicle tracks.

‘Oi-oi,’ Calls some wag from halfway up the scaffolding. ‘Another wonk in a suit coming, someone chuck him a hat!’ And I step gingerly through the debris, past a hulking concrete hopper and a stuttering-engine dumper truck towards the site hut.

All site visitors must report to works foreman. Instructs another notice, as I hop onto a First World War-style duckboard and cross a soggy looking patch of scrappy terrain, wondering if they’ll be piling these properties or if I’ll be dealing with the subsidence claims in ten years time – heaven forbid.

‘Sales Director has pissed off to lunch.’ Announces the foreman offering me a grubby calloused hand, with reluctance. ‘So you’ve got me. I’ll show you some drawings.’ I watch, one eye on the soft porn calendar taped to the portacabin wall – building sites being one of the last vestiges for unashamed girly-shot displays – as the gruff man unfolds a series of steely-grey architectural prints, with almost religious reverence.

‘To tell you the truth,’ Confides the man, as we walk the site later and I feel the ludicrous yellow safety helmet slipping on my head and start fretting about hat-hair for the rest of the day. ‘The bosses will probably end up selling direct themselves if the market improves in time. They’re just covering their backs by talking to you lot.’

Double-dip it is then.