Trellick Tower in west London. Photo: Getty
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Vast swathes of London are becoming unaffordable even to those on “good” incomes

London property is seen as a safe place for overseas investors to park their money. But with a lack of affordable housing in the capital while these properties sit empty, something has to change.

Barely a week goes by without a news story about overseas buyers snapping up London property. London housing has been described as a global reserve currency, with many seeing it as a safe place to park their money. There are anecdotal reports of areas of London becoming ghost towns as swathes of properties are left empty, with the architect of one such “ghost” development calling for a severe tax on those who leave homes empty.

London is a diverse global city where we rightly celebrate the fact that people from across the world want to live and work here. Yet there is a growing feeling that people with no intention of ever living or working here are profiting from our booming property market while those who do live here, wherever they’re from, are being squeezed harder and harder by our housing crisis.

But what is the real extent of overseas investment in London, what are the consequences of this and what, if anything, should be done about it?

These were the questions put to experts at a roundtable discussion hosted by me at City Hall. The event brought together a diverse range of voices from politicians and academics to developers and estate agents.

What is clear is that for all the newspaper headlines, very little research exists into the extent and effect of overseas investment. Estate agents Knight Frank have estimated that in the two years to October 2013 49 per cent of all new build purchases in ‘prime’ central London were made by overseas investors, 20 per cent in the wider inner-London area and 7 per cent in outer-London. In June 2012 the Smith Institute reported that 60 per cent of new homes in central London were bought by overseas investors.

The problem is that these figures rely primarily on data assembled by estate agents with differing methodology for a variety of purposes. No definitive data exists and no official monitoring takes place. The Greater London Authority would be in a prime position to commission such research. However, despite repeated requests from the London Assembly, the Mayor has so far refused to do so.

What we do know is that vast swathes of London are becoming unaffordable even to those on “good” incomes. The average house price is soaring towards the £500,000 mark. With most first time buyers unable to raise a deposit without help from their parents, and with historically low interest rates making saving unattractive, demand for housing is increasingly coming from those who already own a home as people enter the buy-to-let market.

For this reason it is clear that overseas investment cannot be looked at in isolation from domestic property speculation. However, with many new developments being funded by off-plan sales to overseas buyers how can local people feel that they are benefiting when a new block of luxury flats rises up over them?

There is a clear need to distinguish between different types of overseas investment: capital appreciation investment, where a home is bought purely to appreciate in value, and supply-generating investment, which results in an increase in the supply of housing for those who need to live and work here.

Perhaps the real question we should be asking is “how can we make overseas investment work for Londoners?”

Data from Islington suggest that homes being bought up by overseas buyers are increasingly being left empty. Across 10,000 homes built over the last six years in the borough there is a 3 per cent rate of properties in which no one is on the electoral register. Yet in several new developments in the south of the borough bordering the City that figure rises to almost 50 per cent. While the level of electoral registration is by no means a perfect measure of whether or not a home is actually being left empty, this level of discrepancy does suggest that something strange is going on.

In a city with an acute housing crisis, buying homes and leaving them empty is an obscene luxury that Londoners can ill-afford. Councils must be given much stronger powers to raise taxes on empty and even second homes. Given the level of capital appreciation we are talking about, the government’s decision to allow councils to charge 150% council tax on empty properties does not go anywhere near far enough.

Local authorities could also follow Islington Council's lead and impose planning conditions which specify that new homes must be occupied, requiring payments for those that are not.

Ultimately the reason people want to buy London property, whether they are from overseas or not, is that our houses are seen as commodities more than they are seen as homes. With house prices seeming to rise inexorably, property is becoming the only game in town for people with a bit of money to invest. After all, with most investments there is a risk that its value may go down instead of up. That risk in London’s property market is perceived to be very small indeed. The government’s announcement in the budget to allow people to cash in their pension will only stoke this problem as pensioners decide to enter the buy-to-let market.

The real solution is therefore twofold: making other forms of investment more attractive, and doing something to arrest the rise in house prices. The latter will require significant investment in new homes. What government, the Mayor and local authorities need to do is ensure that overseas investment contributes to an increase in the supply of affordable properties, rather than simply fuelling demand.

Tom Copley is a Labour member of the London Assembly

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Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

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