A million pounds used to be a lot of money. Now, in parts of central London, it’s the price of a one bedroom basement flat. A million quid to live underground, like a mole or a rat.
Better news in Dumfries and Galloway where it will get you Toad Hall. Well, Ochardton Hall. Actually, this Victorian baronial mansion with 45 rooms, stables and a view of the sea, is on the market for £1.4m, but current owners Susan and Alan DeVere are so desperate to sell, they’d probably take a million. “It’s almost got its own gravity,” says Alan sadly. “It’s not a place you can walk away from and forget; it’s always in your thoughts.”
Below Alan, the rest of the house and their dreams crumble, the debts rise. Very hard to keep either Dumfries or Galloway outside a 45-room Victorian baronial mansion, I imagine. It’s young Byron I feel most sorry for, a lonely childhood spent wandering through long-forgotten rooms and the echoes of happier times. But then he might turn it to good use, I suppose; become a poet or something.
I’m not going to lie. I may pretend not to be the slightest bit interested in property prices, but I am, just a teeny bit. I think everyone is, if they’re honest, either because they are smug haves or bitter have-nots. Or just WTFs. Plus, I like walking snoopily around other people’s houses as much as any other nosy (Strutt &) parker. But it’s the people inside these Million Pound Properties (Channel 4) that really make them interesting. There’s good people-watching and snoopage to be had in this Cutting Edge documentary, not just from the DeVeres in Scotland but in Essex too, where the Malins – Sam and Irene – are trying to sell their Principal House in a place called North Stifford. He, a Canadian, is big in oil (oi, #keepitintheground Sam); she was once Miss Cameroon. From an interior design PoV, it’s a marriage made in heaven, or hell, depending on where you stand. A proper raised middle finger to understated good taste anyway, kinda Southfork (is it Principal as in Victoria?) meets TOWY (The Only Way is Yaoundé) meets the Playboy Mansion when you get down to the basement, which has been converted into a private nightclub with hot tub and pole-dancing pole. Plus, it used to be an orphanage, so there are probably sad children (the ghosts of) wandering around as well. That’s a terrifying combination; no wonder it’s not selling, even after Sam and Irene bring back a pair of gold thrones to add some lustre to an open day.
Selling houses means estate agents, of course, who are usually good value for a bit of twattery. Meet Stefan, with his Excel spreadsheet, looking to “take it forward from there”. OK, so he’s not actually an estate agent; he’s a property developer, searching for investors to purchase a hideous 1980s former council house in Islington for a million. “This is why, ultimately, everyone wants to work in property, because you want one of these,” Stefan says, passing a supercar dealership on the way back from some kind of property investment speed-dating event. “It’s a great motivator every time you go past the Lamborghini garage and go: ‘One day.’” Twatty twat twat – already, today, even pre-Lambo.
I was expecting (expecting!) quite a lot from the The Delivery Man (ITV). Because it’s a comedy set in a hospital directed, produced and written by the people behind Green Wing, one of the most original, innovative, brilliantly bonkers and hilarious comedies of the century so far. This is much more traditional, old-fashioned sitcom fare with an annoying plinky-plonky don’t-forget-this-is-comedy soundtrack.
Matthew (Darren Boyd) is a midwife, and also a man; therein lies much of the comedy. He also get things wrong, says the wrong thing, is a bit inappropriate – but not very inappropriate.
I think the show might want to be bolder than it is; perhaps it’s been reined in for an ITV audience. In an early scene, Matthew has problems with lots of dolls – practice babies, presumably – falling out of a cupboard. Slapstick, basically. Eventually he manages to close the cupboard, but one doll remains outside. So he tosses it in the bin. Which is quite funny, mainly because of the shock of seeing a baby – even a plastic one – being thrown in the hospital waste. Then he ruins it, though, by thinking better of it and picking the doll out again. And that’s symptomatic of The Delivery Man. It’s safe, sanitised to avoid infection, or even the slightest possibility of offence.
• This article was amended on 29 April 2015 to remove incorrect references to the state of Ochardton Hall.
