Yahoo News Confessions from the City: The healthcare property adviser
Healthcare real estate has always been an unglamorous sector but the bosses have tried to jazz it up of late by providing plush offices and an endless string of social events featuring the same guest list and cheap wine.
I was wooed away from sexier property asset classes — i.e. luxury flats with stunning views — a few years ago with the promise of big bonuses and plenty of work. The bosses sure weren’t lying about the latter: there’s an endless stream of care homes, retirement villages and surgeries needing to be sold, revamped or built, and I am on hand to advise the owners.
Because I am part of a nationwide team, I am often dragged from my swanky West End office to the wilds of Doncaster to see a care home. In previous planning jobs, I would have travelled First Class on Virgin, noshing smoked salmon. Now I find myself borrowing my brother’s clapped-out car to take eight-hour round trips to places north of Watford I can barely pronounce.
On a recent trip up North, a group of care-home staff swarmed round me, pleading for confirmation that the site will not be closed. I said I couldn’t assure them but suggested everything would be fine.
A month or so later, a colleague sends me an article: angry relations are pictured helping Mammy as she is evicted in her fluffy slippers. The local council refused to cough up for Mammy and her fellow inmates’ care, my client has gone bust, the home has closed, I’ve lost my deal. A pretty grim feeling.
Shrugging this off, I head to the top of one of the tall buildings in the City, where a private-equity firm is celebrating having just invested in healthcare assets.
I’m one of the few women at the bash, surrounded by a sea of greying blokes who become less smiley and more sleazy as the Veuve Clicquot freely flows.
A VIP client approaches, boasting of his wonderful wife. But before long, his hand is caressing my bum, in front of several laughing healthcare-sector bankers.
Champagne and Cityscape view bubble firmly burst, I make a swift exit and receive a text from my groper asking where I’ve gone.
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But there’s no time (literally) to complain.
I still love my job, and it’ll keep me busier than ever this year. With lots of care companies secretly gritting their teeth at the rise in the Living Wage, I predict many will sell up, keeping me on target to upgrade and get myself some expensive wheels. And maybe one of those luxury flats, some day.
