a day ago
The landlord: 'I never signed up to be that f***ing b***ard'
In 2003, I was 37 and doing just fine. Jack's army was coming home we couldn't give the Eurovision away, the Chinese loved Riverdance, and everything Irish seem to be sprinkled with gold dust.
My generation was raised by ambitious parents who had lived a hard life in the 1950s.
They wanted their kids to have what they had not and were willing to sacrifice to put us in position to avail of the opportunities that hadn't existed in their time — universal second-level education and invigorated schools such as the North Mon, who did their bit in putting some intellectual balance back in the city.
My brother and I both went to college and got our degrees. For us and for the country, the word was about that our time had arrived. Unfortunately, the country had no muscle memory when it came to boom and bust cycles. Risk was taking a dive off the high board in the Lee Baths — in relation to property it did not compute.
My first foray into property was quite a swashbuckling affair. With a friend and a €7,000 credit union loan guaranteed by my mother, we brought a sliver of a pub wedged into the space where Patrick Hill joins McCurtain Street.
That wasn't to be the last time I heard the word guarantee.
Apparently, the pub had previously been the central hub for the Cork gay community and Na Piarsigh hurling club, a winning formula if ever there was one.
Shortly after that, an opportunity arose to purchase four houses in rural North Cork. Ulster Bank was offering 105% five-year interest-only tracker mortgages.
Our plan was simple. We would use the Germans' money to buy, hold for five years, and having had the benefits of an uplift, sell the properties, pay off the mortgages and retain the profit to be rolled over in the next adventure.
The properties were purchased in 2003 and the plan was to sell in 2008 just before the interest-only tracker expired. One of the properties is about 40km from my home and difficult to get to. For the past 20 years, this has been the home to a family who professionally are my tenants, but who personally are my friends.
The rent was set 20 years ago at €650 per month. We left it alone, and they left me alone.
I did try to amend the rent before the last State intervention but it transpired that it, even though it was very isolated, it was within the Fermoy electoral area and therefore the rent could not be increased. The market rent is now approximately €2,000 per month.
My tracker mortgage has had a good run of recent times, but this was not always the case and my subsidy of what is a State responsibility has cost me dearly.
In the Government's private rental sector changes, the institutions will be sorted but it looks bad for me — cap of 2% rent and minimum of six years tenure.
The accidental landlords will once again be cannon fodder for what the constitution describes as the exigencies of the common good.
In truth, I can't see any combination of politicians left to their own devices squaring this circle. I do feel the idea of a property tsar with teeth and with follow-through is the way forward.
My preference would be to look at it with clear eyes and appoint someone who is not a politician or a civil servant. but is politically astute, respected and who gets things done.
I do fully appreciate mine is only one side of the story. On the other side, we have a family who are part of the community and who will find it next to impossible to locate alternative accommodation.
I drove from Ballycotton to Cork last weekend and saw nothing but green fields. Land is not our problem. The larger builders insist if given the right conditions, personnel is not a problem, and the banks as an act of contrition should do as directed and fund viable projects if promoted by experienced operators and stick with them until completion, even if the going gets sticky.
We live in a small country with an intelligent, young and charitable population. Fixing this should not be beyond us.
Having got my wind back before tea, the 9pm news knocked me backwards and just left me uncertain and unsure.
This time, my muscle memory did kick in and at 9.20pm, I drove into town, took myself to the RTB website, and prepared as best I could four notices to quit with supporting documents, including the statutory declaration which will confirm that it is my intention to sell the properties.
I put my notices in the letterbox and called the tenants the next morning to let them have the bad news. To my horror, I discovered that one had just lost her husband and this will hit her terribly.
I do fully appreciate mine is only one side of the story. On the other side, we have a family who are part of the community and who will find it next to impossible to locate alternative accommodation. Their plight is exponentially worse than mine. However, neither of us should be put in this position.
The country needs accommodation, and we need a lot of it, but what we really need is certainty.
Release those landlords currently trapped and start again with a modern, fair and permanent regime. Keep tinkering and they will sink us all.
I never signed up to be that f***ing b***ard.
Kevin O'Donoghue is a solicitor and founder of
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