You can almost hear the doves cry – or is it just the seagulls? News that well-to-do coastal home owners have seen the value of their seaside properties plummet off a cliff has sent shockwaves through yachting clubs up-and-down the country. Millionaires with holiday pads in exclusive coastal enclaves have seen tens of thousands wiped off house prices. In Sandbanks, Dorset – where the average home costs just shy of a million quid – prices have dipped by 3%, or £33k. That’s roughly the cost of a new Rolex Daytona, for heaven’s sake.
It’s worse in Salcombe, Devon, Britain’s second-priciest coastal town, where average prices have plunged 16%, in Padstow, Cornwall, values dropped 4%, and in Aldeburgh, Suffolk, they’re down 9%. The slump has been blamed on tax hikes for second-home and holiday-let owners. Of course, cheaper homes are great news for locals who struggle to get on the housing ladder – thanks, in no small part, to the influx of DFLs (Down From London types) snapping up all the quaint seaview cottages.
No sooner have they got the keys, the architect is called in to construct a loft extension with sundeck, off street parking for the Range Rover and a wine cellar/cinema snug. All that, just to spend the odd long weekend by the sea while whacking it on Airbnb for the rest of the year.
As someone who’s only recently managed to procure my first home, I couldn’t imagine having to deal with the upkeep of another one. Nearly two years later, I still haven’t replaced the broken Venetian blinds I marked out as an absolute priority. And the rotten decking out the back is gonna have to do for another few years. I just avoid the ones that have come loose, it’s fine. You adapt.
Even if I were in a position to buy a second property, I wouldn’t be after some high-maintenance seafront showpiece. No, my ideal holiday home would be one of those decommissioned Cold War nuclear bunkers, in a field, in the middle of nowhere. Just a mound of grass, a hidden hatch, a ladder down, thick concrete walls, no Wi-Fi, no phone signal. Just a bed, a kettle and a bloody good night’s sleep.
I reckon I could market it as “Bunker Therapy”, and rent it out as a monastic retreat for the overstimulated. And with things heating up between Trump and Putin – it could also be a very practical investment. I might have just talked myself into it…