Listen to all this talk about soft landings. Hard landings. Negative equity. It’s all bollocks. As far as I’m concerned, the crash can’t come soon enough.
If you have a house to live in, it doesn’t matter a shit what it’s worth. It’s a house, it keeps you dry and warm, and you can have all your friends over for a party twice a week if that’s what you’d like to do. The monetary value of your house only matters if you want to sell it and get the biggest possible profit out of it.
But now we have all the Jeremiahs whingeing and moaning about a collapse in property values, and I’m standing here, baffled. I’m asking myself why is this is a bad thing? At present, we have a ridiculous situation, where poor fools are commuting from Mullingar to Dublin because that’s all they can afford. People are buying homes in the middle of fucking nowhere, and if those homes are within 100 miles of Dublin, they’re called town-houses. What a load of shite. People are dropping their kids into creches at six in the morning, driving for three hours to get to work and another three home, stressed out of their heads, never seeing their children.
Who benefits? Very simple: land speculators benefit, and nobody else. This has been achieved by a very cunning sleight of hand in which naive young couples are hoodwinked by lifestyle supplements and gobshites like Duncan Stewart. It isn’t cool or sophisticated to be living 100 miles from where you work. And no, you don’t live in Manhattan. You live in fucking Castleblayney. It isn’t clever. You didn’t buy a townhouse. You bought an albatross. It isn’t smart or cosmopolitan. It’s just stupid, as simple as that, and while you struggle your 100 miles to work and 100 miles home, who’s laughing? Not you, that’s for certain, and not your kids who live in a creche.
The only ones laughing are the arseholes who manipulate house-prices to squeeze every last penny out of you. The pals of Bertie and Haughey and Lawlor and Burke and all the rest of the slithering reptiles.