Sometimes the gamble is worth taking…
I escaped the idyllic calm of Yorkshire this weekend. Not permanently, don’t worry, I’m not that reckless.
But every now and again, even a Dales man needs noise, crowds, and a questionable number of negronis.
The destination: City Centre Manchester. The catalyst: James, the 1980s legend behind Sit Down and She’s a Star.
Now, if you’re going to do it properly – food, drink, live music – you don’t commute home like a sensible adult. No. You commit. You stay over. That’s the rule! So, onto a well-known short-term accommodation platform (no names, but we all know the one). I begin, as any self-respecting self-employed man does, by filtering by price: low to high. Optimism first, reality later.
Within minutes, reality arrived like a slap. Anything genuinely “city centre” for four adults (once you remove the creative interpretations involving a 45-minute taxi ride to the gig) started with a 5 as their price point. The nicer ones? 6s and 7s. For a one-night stay? Absolutely not.
Then the penny dropped. The gig clashed perfectly with the Manchester Marathon the next day. So, while we wanted somewhere to collapse after enthusiastic socialising, thousands of highly disciplined individuals wanted an early night, electrolyte drinks, and a respectable bedtime. Demand, as they say, had entered the chat.
Undeterred, I kept checking. Daily. Religiously. And then on Wednesday it appeared. A new listing: City centre (proper City Centre). Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. Residents’ swimming pool.
Photos that whispered, “you deserve this.”
And the price? Started with a 3.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting.
Because I am, as you know, a risk professional. Decades in the game. I’ve seen how fraudsters operate. I watch documentaries like they’re training manuals.
On a scale of 1 to 10, my likelihood of being scammed? A solid 0.
Which is precisely why alarm bells immediately began ringing. No reviews for the landlord. Photos that looked suspiciously like developer marketing shots (confirmed through Google image search). That faint but unmistakable feeling of “this isn’t quite right.”
Every instinct I’ve honed over 30 years was screaming. So naturally… I booked it. Now before you question my professional credibility, let me clarify. I paid on a credit card. Chargeback protection? Tick. Section 75 of the Consumer Credit Act? Also tick.
If this went wrong, I had a safety net. That’s not recklessness, that’s controlled risk.
Then came the communication. Or lack of it. Message sent Thursday morning: “Can you confirm check-in details?” Response: 12 hours later. Brief. Vague. “Instructions tomorrow morning.”
Tomorrow morning came and went. By Friday afternoon, I was messaging both the landlord and the platform with increasing enthusiasm (and slightly decreasing patience).
By Friday evening, I had fully convinced myself: “I’ve been scammed.” Me. A risk professional.
Then, 21:00 Friday night a message. “I’ll meet you at the property Saturday at 15:00.”
Now this raised a new question. What kind of scammer schedules a face-to-face meeting? So, we get on the train. Arrive in Manchester. And at this point, I’ve already mentally budgeted for one of two outcomes:
- Emergency booking somewhere starting with a 5 or 6
- An Uber journey of biblical proportions
We arrive at the address. I send a message.
“Be right down,” came the reply.
And then… he appears. A real person. A very apologetic one at that.
Turns out: first-time landlord. Still decorating the flat at 2am the night before. Juggling work, deadlines, and the small matter of preparing a property for its first-ever guests.
My messages? Lost in the chaos. And the apartment? Immaculate. Brand new. Spotless. Exactly as advertised, if not better. Location? Perfect. Facilities? Spot on. Value? An absolute steal.
The rest of the weekend delivered exactly what it promised.
The concert… brilliant.
The company… excellent.
The food and drink… enthusiastically consumed.
And the apartment I had completely convinced myself didn’t exist? One of the best finds I’ve had in years.
So, what’s the takeaway? Because there is one. In risk, we train ourselves to spot patterns. To question everything. To assume the worst until proven otherwise. And that’s important. It protects us.
But here’s the thing. Not everything is a scam.
Sometimes, it’s just someone doing something for the first time. Sometimes, it’s imperfect execution – not malicious intent. Sometimes, it’s a genuine opportunity hiding behind slightly messy edges.
The trick isn’t switching off your instincts. It’s backing them up with protection so you can still say yes. Because if you never take the booking, you never get the upside.
And occasionally, that upside is a £300 apartment, a great night out, and a timely reminder that caution is smart. But cynicism, if you let it run the show, will cost you more than any scam ever could.