That’s what I reckon you could say if you successfully buy this bit of land guided at £20k and, if you manage to get planning for a block of apartments.
Of course, the key word is *if*
And if could be a pretty risky gamble.
So why am I attracted to this site?
Well, not only is the site 0.33 acres, it is also located next to Tilehurst train station in Reading, which has a journey time of 45 minutes into London Paddington.
And when I say next to the train station, I mean NEXT TO.
Which has got to be a commuter’s wet dream. Well, that and the thought of a free annual season ticket.
But, you know there’s going to be a catch when a piece of land this well located has got such a lowly guide price.
And the catch is:
And there’s quite a few of them.
Which is fine, if you could cut them down.
But there is a tree preservation order on them.
Which means any of the Field Maples, Norway Maples, Sycamores, Horse Chestnuts, Silver Birch, Lawsons Cypress, Hazel, Hawthorn, Ash, Holly, Sweet Gum, Blackthorn, English Oak and Common Lime are staying.
Which I thought would be fine. Because while not an Arborist (tree expert before you reach for your dictionary), I do have access to Wikipedia and a colour printer. And so equipped with my bunch of Wikipedia entries I trekked off to work out what I could do with this bit of land and still save the trees.
But I think the trees knew I secretly wanted them gone and in their place a shiny, spanking new block of apartments.
And although I tried to stroke and soothe their branches while wrestling my way in the wiry carpet of undergrowth, the trees knew. And I knew they knew. And they knew I knew.
No amount of trying to think “green” thoughts was going to do it. They knew I wanted them gone.
Which is why they started to attack me.
Nettles crawled up my legs, hard Holly leaves scratched at my face, spiny branches whipped themselves around my arms and, tiny, munching bugs descended on me.
And then I found a small clearing which seemed to be a favourite haunt of the local winos and druggies. Butt-ends and crushed cans were strewn around a totemic silver pot which seemed to mark the central area – or maybe it was a centrifugal force.
The snapping of a branch behind me meant I didn’t stand too long to ponder.
I’ve seen The Blair Witch Project enough times to know it’s best not to hang around too long thinking you can’t be seen hiding behind a tree.