Celebrity Landlord Blog – This Week: David Cameron
David Cameron is the British Prime Minister.
Since it became public knowledge that I earn income from rented property, people have asked me, “how on earth do you find the time to be a landlord when you’re the most important man on Earth who isn’t the US President, the chap in charge of China or Simon Cowell?” The answer is simple, in that I’m far too busy making tough speeches about defeating ISIS whilst surrounded by heavily-armed members of the security forces and deleting so-called “hilarious” pork jokes on my Twitter timeline.
When it comes to landlord duties, I let the people who run the letting agency get on with the all the minor details such as not bothering to return tenants’ security deposits, failing to remove blue asbestos from the loft and raising their rent in spite of the fact I make more in interest on a weekly basis than they’ll ever earn in a year.
Like everybody else the boot used to be on the other foot! I was one of those footloose and fancy-free students who rented a place. We’d stay up drinking until dawn (or until whenever it was I finished my four pack of Fosters Lager beer). Those sure were crazy days when myself and a bunch of lunatics from uni’ shared the “Mad Pad” (this is a reference to the wild times we had there and as I’ve been advised to point out, wasn’t meant to cause offence to anyone who is or has in the past suffered mental health problems).
There were two of us living in the “Mad Pad” – a cramped 11-bedroom, 3 bathroom, 3 living areas, underground swimming pool house, in the middle of the Oxford countryside. It may sound like a bit of a dump, but it was home. I can tell you we had some pretty bloody stonking sessions there: there was this one time Tonker spilt some Mellow Birds and then wiped it up using a Thirst Pocket – mental! Then there was that time during fresher’s week when I peed on the bit under the toilet seat and couldn’t be bothered to clean it up – totally hardcore.
But enough reminiscing about the so-called “good old days”.
I am a man of vision. Not Vision-On, that was a children’s programme from the seventies and as such it belongs in the past, along with trade unionists from the car manufacturing industry and their ghastly Midlands accents. No, I have a duty to look forward to the future – not just the next two hours, tomorrow, or even Wednesday week, but to the proper future – the future of our children, their children and their children’s children children children. That’s how ahead of the game I am, which is the major difference between myself and Jeremy Corbyn, who’s stuck on May 19th, 1973 of his Trotskyite Vegetarian Meal Of The Month Calendar, which I know is still hanging up in his office.
Only the other day I voiced my concerns as to how many properties my own children will be able to afford in the future – will it be just the two? Will it be three? Will they be able to get planning permission for the extra decking?
It’s a nightmare scenario every parent dreads, but somehow we in the Conservative Government must pretend we’re thinking about addressing these problems before Labour beat us to the punch by pretending they’re thinking about addressing these problems. As a fellow parent (if you don’t have children, I shan’t criticise you, except to say you’re a bit odd) I know I won’t be alone when I say that it has to be everyone’s nightmare for your child to never be able to own a luxury bolthole with heated pool and mooring facilities, in Sandbanks.
As told to Matt Owen @MJowen174