A Landlord's Life

My mobile rang on the beach in Spain. It was a tenant in Mulhuddart, in far-away Dublin. He had a leak in his roof, would I fix it? Well, not just now, old son, but I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, put a bucket on the landing and keep an eye it doesn't overspill.

Promises, promises. I consoled myself that - contrary to native impressions - it never rains that much in Ireland. Even at the best of times, it would take a day to get a workman with a ladder. By then, the rains will have abated, the leak will be forgotten, as will my absentee promise to my tenant.

The proper solution, of course, it to have an arrangement with a maintenance company, who will take the hassle out of landlording, by coping with the myriad ills that go with property. In tandem with the property boom, there has been a phenomenal rise in the landlord class, small capitalists to a man and woman - but often ignorant about the practicalities of keeping a property, of how a house actually works.

This new breed of landlord has made enough dosh in IT, or hairdressing or - dare I say it - slavering over a hot word processor to buy a modest investment. By the same token, using a hammer drill or electric saw , puts them - and anyone in close proximity - in danger of limb amputation. So, into that gap in the market - or market in the gap - have come the maintenance companies, driving to the rescue in branded 4x4s.

They are, by and large, good at what they do, being a group of tradesmen whose expertise covers electrical, plumbing, carpentry and so on.

From the point of view of keeping your sanity, while protecting your investment, a maintenance contract is cheaper than some mangled repairs that you might deliver yourself . It's unlikely you have the skills, so pay someone who does.

I put such sensible thoughts to the back of my sunburned head.

When I'm away, I'm out of it. But they did not disappear, because I happened to be on a stretch of the Costa del Sol which probably has more absentee landlords than a Westminster parliament of the 19th century. A huge proportion of the absentee Spanish landlords are Irish. Maybe it's the revenge of history that some of them are suffering as much as their maligned predecessors.

In recent years, the regional government in this part of Spain has slapped all kinds of taxes on non-resident landlords, in response to complaints that young couples could not afford their first married home. The investors had priced the natives out of the market. Sounds familiar? As most landlords are foreigners, in receipt of salaries or pensions from a wealthier northern Europe economy, you can see the ingredients of social unrest. Competing with the native Spaniards are the competitive scrabbling of thousands of illegal immigrants from poor Morocco, and roaming gangsters from Eastern Europe. In parts of the costa, if you have rental properties, you have the incendiary makings of trouble.

Along the Costa del Golf (yes, it exists) and Costa del Crime (also real) some shady companies have taken over the maintenance of properties. It is potentially a huge market. Official estimates are that - at any given time - over a million rental properties are vacant.

That's an awful lot of space to be maintained and there's bound to be a few dodgy companies along the way.

One story was of a family from Ireland who arrived at their villa, from a delayed flight. They found a late night casino in full swing, with roulette wheel, blackjack and poker tables and their bedrooms otherwise engaged for "entertainment". After an exchange of words with some stern-faced gentlemen, the family were "facilitated" in a hotel miles away for a few days, until the place was sanitised. The agent was apologetic, apparently, there had been a "mix-up" in the bookings.

The family told me the saga on the beach, eager to talk out their upset - or their inner fright. The agent was good, they said, who had the letting of their villa. He had kept accounts and banked their monies locally, very useful for their holidays. They had not enquired about the identity of their tenants, just in getting the rental income and having the place occupied for most of the year. But now they were beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

I did not have much to offer, other than suggesting their feelings would improve after a few more days of sun and sea and golf for the husband. They were suffering minor ills of the new absentee landlord class. Listening to them on the beach, frowning against the glare of the silvery waves, a leaking roof in Mulhuddart seemed such a small problem.