Building a Dynasty before bedtime

It was going to be a high powered meeting with a local builder at his latest development site.

The appointment had been in my diary for a good few days and in preparation and usually in the wee small hours of the night my mind was hyperactive thinking about what would be required by way of background information and to second guess the inevitable barrage of questions that would arise.

Essential market intelligence had to be sourced through the usual channels and the builder had, by e-mail, forwarded a bundle of documents including plans, elevations, specifications and other relevant items for my consideration.

The site itself was not on the open market and the opportunity to purchase off-market was seen as a major opportunity and especially as any interest by the wider public would result in a massive inflating of the price in a mad clamour to purchase.The land was quite a rarity for the particular village location and would excite significant attention if at all advertised. In similar situations I had been required to sign a confidentiality clause with the parties involved being sensitive to any leak of details.

The mainly middle class occupants of what had been an artisan village were notorious for blocking any planning proposals in case a tree got damaged, wildlife got scared or the flora became trampled although their true motivation was to prevent any outsiders from moving in particularly if likely to be of a perceived undesirability such as a lottery winner, the nouveau-rich or, heaven forbid, someone without a university degree.

The surroundings were idyllic.

Access was from a leafy lane with high banked verges and in view was the Parish Church and the Manor House. The road was quiet with just local traffic and the occasional gal on a horse.

On the aerial photograph in my pack of information the land was a lush greensward with thick and mature hedging to its margins. The measurements provided by the builder indicated a sizeable parcel which would readily take a good sized detached house and still leave plenty of garden on all sides. There were only a few trees visible in the satellite sweep which would make clearance in readiness for foundations relatively straight forward. Big and broad canopied trees were usually trouble for a builder with either a Preservation Order in place or adoption by the aforementioned village guardians and for which they would lay down their Pinot at the drop of a Panama hat.

The day of the appointment arrived.

I felt as though I already knew the site intimately from my desk-top workings. I was confident in my research and the report was 80% formed in my mind subject to the actual fact finding during the site visit. After a trip to the local shop and  a couple of laps of the village later I rolled up perfectly on time. Punctuality always impresses.

The builder was parked up on the verge just along the road from the plot in his large and brand new grey pick-up truck. Even though we knew each other from a number of similar ventures there was a certain aloof attitude which was part and parcel of our respective professionalism. A formal handshake would establish our relationship for the next half hour or so.

We spoke in low, hushed tones even though there was no-one in sight and probably no other soul within half a mile.

It was then that a childs' head popped up over the steering wheel of the shiny pick-up. A chubby faced cherub of a boy grasped the wheel as he had no doubt observed his father to do. The builder assumed his more natural role of a doting father and extracted little George from the vehicle. We were introduced and my best funny face reserved for infants and pets won his confidence over.

The boy was two years old but was plucky and assured. Typically for age he had no awareness of road safety and had to be firmly gripped by the hand and led along by his father. I felt as though I was intruding on a private walkabout and kept a couple of paces behind.

It was then that George held out his other tiny hand inviting me to take it. The meeting would no longer be high powered. I took hold and the three of us made our way along the quiet lane with George jumping and swinging in the middle. That small action was enough to allow us grown-ups to lower our guard and reserve.

It was a wonderful moment. The purpose of the meeting was completely irrelevant now and conversation flowed easily into bringing up children (I have three grown up versions of my own), the value of play, the role of fathers in a family and all aspects of the important things to maintain that life/work balance so important in a busy and often hectic world. George kept hold of my hand until it was time for him to be levered back into his car seat.

Our behaviour must have been a strange sight to the few passers by and no doubt the village jungle drums will have spread the news of possibly a single sex family unit house hunting in the local area.

The prospect of a mass rallying of like minded well-to do's with  homophobic tendencies in the leafy confines of the village and before afternoon tea was something that I found most amusing.