Knightsbridge townhouse for sale for sum 11% lower than it sold for in 2011; it comes with a rather large hole in the garden that has been described as “almost as deep as the Führerbunker”
To the poet and wit Henry Luttrell (1765 – 1861) “eating pâté de foie gras to the sound of trumpets” was his idea of heaven. Now, a very wealthy buyer has the opportunity to acquire what some might consider the very opposite of such with the sale of his former home – complete with a 4-storey hole in its garden – in Knightsbridge.
Empty for many years and the subject of numerous critical articles about its dereliction in such titles as the Mirror and Daily Mail, Grade II listed 31 Brompton Square is on the market for £3 million less than it sold for in 2011. It was previously reportedly owned by the industrialist Lord Tanlaw and was also in the possession of the High Commission of Malaysia at some point.
Fraudster Achilleas Kallakis was undoubtedly the most controversial owner of the buildingPhilanthropists Dora and Mary de Beer (pictured with Esmond de Beer) were certainly more civilised residentsBaron Tanlaw of Tanlawhill reportedly owned the house for a period also
Aside from being home to the philanthropist sisters Dora and Mary de Beer (owners of the house between 1934 and 1981) and the Conservative Party politician the Hon. Michael Astor in addition, most controversially the property was bought by the now jailed businessman Achilleas Kallakis in the mid 2000s.
Kallakis – who in spite of demanding he be called ‘His Excellency’ and ‘The Don’ was actually simply “Britain’s biggest mortgage fraudster” – began work on a scheme to create what he termed a “pleasure palace” at 31 Brompton Square in 2005. He employed contractors to dig four levels down beneath what had been a pretty garden and commenced both authorised and unauthorised works to create what could still ultimately become a 22,000 square foot, 8-floor “trophy home.”
Construction stopped in 2008 after Kallakis’ arrest and in 2011, 31 Brompton Square was sold for £8 million more than sought to a Virgin Islands based company by receivers acting for Barclays Wealth. Said by locals to actually be owned at that time by a Dubai based businessman named Jonathan Hart, further planning schemes were submitted in October 2016 and now agents Savills seek £25 million for the unfinished building.
Of the sale, one near neighbour told The Steeple Times:
“This bastard of a basement has blighted this area of Knightsbridge for far too long.”
“We have feared subsidence might cause the hole to cave in since 2005 and now hope a new owner will rectify the mess left by the conman Kallakis. We simply want to be able to live out our years in peace and would like a nice, quiet family rather than a brash billionaire be the purchasers.”
September 2017 – For sale for £25 million ($33.9 million, €28.4 million or درهم125 million).
June 2016 – Predicted to be worth £50 million ($67.8 million, €56.9 million or درهم249 million) if iceberg extension were to be completed.
March 2011 – Sold for £28 million ($38 million, €31.9 million or درهم139.5 million) after a bidding war on an asking price of £20 million ($27.1 million, €22.7 million or درهم99.6 million).
An aerial view of the giant hole behind 31 Brompton SquareA closer view of the dormant siteThe front elevation of 31 Brompton SquareA proposed floor plan for the buildingA CGI image of a proposed design for a reception room within the existing buildingA CGI image of a proposed design for a reception space in the proposed extension of the houseA CGI image of a proposed design for a reception space backing onto the gardenA CGI image of a proposed design for a swimming pool within the extensionA CGI image of the proposed gardenAnother view of the spaceA drawing of the proposed redevelopment
Matthew Steeples suggests Robert Harris is right to point out how Britain has changed and changed for the worse
The novelist Robert Harris was attacked this morning by the Daily Mail’s Stephen Glover as an “immoderate Remoaner” for tweeting about how he felt Britain had changed since the Brexit referendum.
On Tuesday, Harris had remarked:
“Everything I liked about my country — tolerance, moderation, courtesy, sensibleness, pragmatism, irony — seems to have disappeared”.
In a second tweet, Harris had added:
“Brexit everywhere. Nothing but bloody Brexit. It’s a nightmare. It’s like living inside Bill Cash’s brain”.
Mr Harris is right and Mr Glover is wrong. Whilst Theresa May’s “red, white and blue Brexit” might be something that him and the 52% that voted to leave may continue to celebrate, those of us who supported the opposite still have the right to a voice. We also have the right not to be attacked in bars, restaurants and in the street by the angry men and women (as I myself have personally experienced) and we also should not be called “intemperate”, “crazy” and “home-grown extremists”.
Monica Lewinsky takes to Twitter (but don’t expect any mention of Bill Clinton)
On Monday, Monica Lewinsky joined Twitter and within a couple of hours despite her having tweeted just twice, she had gained over 34,000 followers. (more…)
Sally Bercow loses libel case brought by Lord McAlpine
This morning a judge at the High Court ruled that Sally Bercow’s tweet last November about Lord McAlpine suggested that he was a “paedophile who was guilty of sexually abusing boys living in care” and therefore libelous.
The Steeple Times asks artist Andrew Hancock: “What’s on your mantelpiece?”
The Steeple Times shares “wit and wisdom”. What’s your guiding force?
“The increasing sense that time is speeding up”.
“Don’t get even, get medieval” is, in our humble opinion, a great motto. What’s yours?
“Fearless for Your Love Forever!” – I inscribed it into the surface of a recent artwork that appears in my latest exhibition. It may be the first truly heartfelt line I’ve written in months and stands as a declaration to succeed despite all odds. That and a quote from Albert Finney’s character in Saturday Night Sunday Morning… “Don’t let the bastards grind you down!” – I like that one.
This mouthpiece was born in Rettendon, Essex in 1958 and vents bile on all manner of subjects. Articles such as: “Why don’t more women moan like me?” and “Liz Jones’ baby craving drove her to steal husband’s sperm in ultimate deception” are frankly illustrative of why she’s so unpopular. After she got banned from the majority of fashion shows and her husband left her, she quit London for Somerset in 2007 to feed organic muesli to the rats in the barns of a 47-acre farm she purchased as her “rural idyll.” That misadventure came to a sticky end in November 2012 after she’d alienated the whole county by calling them, amongst other things, “smelly” and “faintly Amish.” Goodness knows whom she’ll choose to offend next. Phillip Schofield sums her up best: “She is inconsistent, bitter, nasty and unhinged.” Our advice: Just steer well clear of this acid tongued poison pen.
Matthew Steeples examines the truth behind Liz Jones giving up on her “rural idyll”
The Mail’s Liz Jones is a waspish woman who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing. Those who’ve paid even a moment’s attention to her bleating, will be familiar with lines such as: “Last week, my brand new £1,300 MacBook Pro broke” and “Phil Spencer wanted his £46,000 and he wanted it now!” She never stops talking about money and the size of what she both owns and owes.
Liz Jones
In today’s Femail, Jones bores on about about how she feels “like a cross-dresser” trying out the Kardashian Kollection of clothing in a pointed attack on Kim Kardashian, but it was for her diatribe yesterday that she truly got the goat of the nation in “[bidding] a ferocious farewell” to life in the country in an article entitled “Goodbye… and good riddance!” 2,151 people have commented so far and most of them have been far from sympathetic.
When Upcott Farm at Brushford, near Dulverton in Somerset came up for sale in 2007 at a price of £1.6 million, it featured in an article by The Telegraph’s Caroline McGhie. The 5-bedroomed farmhouse came with a 2-bedroom annexe, a courtyard of barns and stables and 47 acres of land. McGhie waxed lyrical about the merits of moving to this location: “People come here for the peace and quiet, the night skies, the dramatic coastline, and they work from home,” she stated before adding: “You can find everything here, including butchers, bakers, afternoon tea and cake, fish and chips, an art gallery and a shop selling fishing tackle.” Of Upcott Farm itself, she concluded:
“This would suit a member of the new wave of buyers dubbed Droppies (Disillusioned Relatively Ordinary Professionals Preferring Independent Employment Situations).”
McGhie got it half right: Upcott Farm sold to someone who considers herself far from “relatively ordinary” and someone who is far from “professional.” The purchaser, however, was certainly someone who’d become “disillusioned” with what she’d bought and someone whose desire to be “independent” and create a “situation” just alienated all she encountered. The buyer, you’ve guessed it, was none other than Elizabeth Ann Jones.
Jones was born in Brentwood, Essex in 1958 and studied journalism at the London College of Printing. She became editor of Marie Claire in 1999 but was sacked, she herself suggests, for “listing in the magazine the freebies she had been offered in the previous month.” Here, it seems, began Jones’s obsession with all things material and here she also met an Indian BBC radio journalist named Nirpal Dhaliwal in 2000.
Jones married Dhaliwal but the union was to prove an “utter disaster” as he had affairs with women she terms “younger, dimmer [and] slimmer.” “I’m no racist” Jones was divorced in 2007 and said goodbye to her “3,000 square foot of Islington real estate” and “easy, if super-busy, London life” in favour of the green, green grass of Somerset.
Whoever’s side you see it from, five years of hell followed. Jones baited the locals and they grew to loathe her. She wrote columns and a book, The Exmoor Files, where she attacked them as “faintly Amish… feral, old and smelly” and another hack and neighbour, Jane Alexander of The Telegraph, responded: “Dulverton [was] positively fizzing with fury” after each and every publication.
Of the local restaurants, Jones stated:
“I have given up trying to eat out in restaurants here on Exmoor… It is still stuck in the Seventies, with only things in baskets and rum babas on the menu… If you tell the waiter you are vegetarian, you are stared at, incredulously, as if you are black.”
She whinged about her inability to find love:
”I will never, ever meet a man here in the middle of a moor, where even to be in possession of your own teeth is a bonus.”
And whined about fieldsports:
“I didn’t increase my popularity by being unable to pass a party of men and often children with guns, shooting rabbits and deer, without getting out of my BMW and saying: ‘Do you really have nothing better to do with your Saturday morning?’ The look of shock on their faces that I had the cheek to challenge them was priceless. I would stop, too, and shout at huntsmen on horses, galloping on tarmaced roads, one hand on the reins, the other clamping a mobile phone to their heads. ‘You will ruin your horses’ tendons!’ I would wail.”
Whilst Jones found little to like in her new community, they found nothing positive in her arrival either. Her dog was blamed for worrying lambs, and Jones’s inability to control it, locals say, was an indicator of the chasm between her life and theirs. In 2009, one neighbour went as far as to tell Danny Brierley of The Independent:
“We have got nothing in common with her, really. I think she may find it difficult to make any kind of life here now. She is not a very friendly person and we are all sick to death of talking about Liz Jones. A hatred has been building up for months. She is actually having a go at people and they are not going to tolerate that. She has feelings like all people, of course she has. But everyone wants her to leave and leave now. No one can make her, but we think she will go. I don’t see how you can live in such a small community with people who think that way about you.”
Matters came to a head when Jones’s precious black BMW convertible, “bought in 2005 for £26,000,” was pelted with eggs and teenagers fired shots at her letterbox with an air rifle. A local councilor even dressed up as her in the local carnival and yesterday Jones took revenge on those she blames for her “five-year prison sentence” and deprivation from Space NK, Cath Kidston and Illy coffee.
Instead, the article just shows the true reality of this bombastic harpy. The lines Jones penned speak for themselves. Country people don’t welcome someone who planned to “hack for miles across the open moorland in my Prada jodhpurs” anymore than the folk of Knightsbridge welcome Arabs treating their roads like racetracks. The gardener who had to endure Jones yelling “walk faster!” at him didn’t deserve such anymore than a bus driver in SW11 deserves abuse from his passengers. Jones concludes:
“I’m now a different person. I became so lonely. I would often get in my car, not just for the warmth, but for the kind voice of the satnav lady. I’ve learned that an amazing view and a pair of nesting grey herons are not enough to make me happy.”
27 acres of land including paddocks and a fishing lake remain on the market through Savills and Strutt & Parker at a price of £200,000 at Upcott Farm
Miss Jones bleats that she’s taken a £500,000 loss on Upcott Farm, which languished on the market at first at £1,900,000 and then £1,750,000 for three years. The “unexpected” sale of the property has given her the ability to “flee back to the city” but the locals and even the “Droopies” should be warned: there’s still 27 acres of the farm unsold and on the market at a price of £200,000. Halloween may have passed but the battleaxe in the Beemer could still call again.
