8.30am, Adriatic Room: Young Thruster waltzes in, looking a prat in a pink grandpa vest and skinny jeans. I tell him to bugger off home and change back into his Thomas Pink shirt and M&S chinos.
At noon, we’re off to see the new Great God that Giveth Mightily of Fees. And those beardies at WeWork can spot a fake hipster – especially one wearing tasselled loafers, idiot boy.
Anyway, that’s the least of our worries. Had a pre-meeting with Cautious Clive, GBH’s UK head of valuation. Seems our best retail client, Mr S, has changed his mind on (us) revaluing his £1.3bn of assets down to £1bn by next June in three quarterly steps. Why? To get within spitting distance of what the stock market thinks his kit is worth.
We took the first step in September, using the elastic rules in the RICS Red Book to justify an 8% cut in value. What the hell’s gone on, I don’t know. But an ashen-faced Mr S told Clive he wants GBH to ‘hold the line’ and pretend his shops are worth just 2% less in December than what they were in September.
I duly instruct Posh Girl and Old Tom to make this happen on the bit of Mr S’s empire valued by Team P.
Only a guess… but Clive was smouldering about not being invited to a dinner at which Mr S’s bigger rivals and our biggest rivals met. Ensuring an orderly retreat was discussed over coffee, he says. I’ve told Clive to complain of collusion and coercion to the RICS. He nearly smiled.
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