Beat the property slump: House prices

# House prices

One final shove swings the front door wide open. I am hit by the foul smell of stale cat pee and the dank gloom of a house that looks untouched for decades. It is exactly what I've been looking for.

For years I've gorged on Britain's unhealthy diet of property shows. I've watched with envy as amateur investors stumble their way to tens of thousands of pounds in profit. Desperate to climb aboard, I once upped my offer on an east London wreck from the front line while reporting in Afghanistan. As the bombs rained down from the B52s the biggest blow was a distant London agent telling me it had gone to a higher bidder. His only apology was for the bad line, asking whether the "banging" in the background was at my end.

But now it's January 2008, and a friend has given me first refusal on an inherited, foul-smelling, ex-council house in Edgware, north London. Both Nationwide and Halifax predict a year of zero growth, but no falls. It's a very neat street and houses sold here for £285,000 last autumn. I borrow against my home and buy the sad wreck for £200,000.

I know the property market is slowing but figure that even in a static era, I will be able to add lots of value. The total refit should cost about £17,000. I will sell at £249,000 - just below the stamp duty threshold. I can already hear the property show voiceover: "Mark's made a cool £22,000 profit. Not bad for a first time investor."

I start work in mid-February. My mum pops by to inspect what I have risked my lovely home in Hackney for. The stench sends her running into the garden. As she recovers, a kindly neighbour ticks her off for going in without a mask and protective clothing. The house is notorious. Getting people in for quotes is impossible until I conquer the smell. On the internet I discover and order a "pee detector strobe" from America. Like a CSI agent I spend the hours of darkness waving the strobe over floorboards. It works, showing up the glowing yellow crystals. I rip the offending boards out. The smell is gone.

Apart from boiler, central heating and double-glazing, I'm doing all the work myself. It's daunting and depressing. Property shows love the contrasts of before and after. They do not show the weeks in between, with no heating, only the radio for company and a bucket for a loo. Who ever saw Sarah Beeny slopping out? Nothing goes to plan, walls aren't straight; pipes don't always lead where you think they do. The removal of a single old nail brings rubble tumbling down.