The Financial Times: A superyacht is a terrible asset
- Thread starter KompetentKrew
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Daverw
Well-known member
Not an issue if you got so much you have to get rid of it somehow
[2574]
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We're all mad to be owning and maintaining a yacht. It's never an asset, ridiculous to suggest it is, one can only try to retain some value through careful maintenance. But its fun, expensive fun, but it beats dragging a caravan up the M5/M6 or going on the latest monster cruise liner with 15 gazillion passengers who are eating thirteen tonnes of lobster and 1500 gallons of champagne every day.....
Sandy
Well-known member
Pay walls discourage readers.
Poignard
Well-known member
That's decided me. I shan't buy one.
Stemar
Well-known member
"a massive yacht only makes sense for people who need a hard, reasonably liquid asset in their portfolio and don’t have any better options."
He forgot the real reason. At that scale, superyachts are pure willy waving. No one needs a 150m yacht unless they have to make up for some severe lacks in other departments. Maybe their once hard asset has gone a bit liquid and they need to make up for it.
He forgot the real reason. At that scale, superyachts are pure willy waving. No one needs a 150m yacht unless they have to make up for some severe lacks in other departments. Maybe their once hard asset has gone a bit liquid and they need to make up for it.
northwind
Well-known member
Zing
Well-known member
It applies just the same to small yachts, so buy one you can afford. That’s actually what the billionaires do. Though the risk of sanctions arrests for us is less admittedly.
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johnalison
Well-known member
I don’t imagine that a superyacht is any more of an asset than an ordinary yacht like what I have but there may be intangible benefits. I have the benefit of experiences that I would not otherwise have had and an offset against holidays I haven’t had to pay for. A superyacht owner benefits from the boat’s presence on the public stage, and a public impression that the owner is well-heeled. Who wouldn’t lend money to someone who owns a yacht such as Gislaine?
Stemar
Well-known member
Me. I might ask for a sub, though. Spare a grand for an impoverished sailor?
samsonioni
New member
from the next Marine Quarterly:
I bumped into Oleg last week. You have probably read about Oleg. Took over most of the Russian cement industry in 1991 using high order commercial skills and a tank regiment. He was sitting behind a beaker of his usual vodka and gold dust, looking glum. 'Well, Oleg,' I said to him, 'I hear they have seized your boat.' They had, too. I had seen it in the papers. Five hundred feet long, missile defence system, four galleys, freshwater swimming pool, gym fully equipped for calisthenics and torture, usual stuff. 'Tough luck, Oleg,' I said, though my actual thoughts were, couldn't have happened to a nicer person.
Oleg smiled, calling to mind a Volga crocodile. 'No vay,' he said, 'sit down, have drink.'
'No,' I said, 'thank you,' for people who sit down and drink cocktails mixed by Oleg and his friends do not always get up again. 'Bad luck about the boat, though, really.'
'Bad luck?' said Oleg. 'Listen. For vun thing, there is the crew. Two crews, one for winter one for summer. One hundred twenty peoples in all, skippers temperamental like principal dancer with Bolshoi ballet. Air conditioning alvays on blink. Big problem trying to keep fish in giant aquarium alive, and DC electricity supply to torture chamber also big problem. Plus have you any idea what sea air does to a Picasso, let alone a Rubens, though Olga -'
'Your wife?'
'No vay. Olga my special friend who is nail varnish influencer. Olga thinks Rubens vimmin are fat. She is throwink shoes at Rubens. On a boat even quite big it is hard to get avay from people particularly Olga. There is also difficulty of getting in to harbours on French Riviera by reason of draught and tendency of guests to shoot people. And then there is all the sea stuff.'
'Sea stuff?'
'Rustiness. Osmosis. Engines. Generators always packink up, mussels in cooling water intakes and stabiliser system failure that makes Olga sick in Prada handbag. Electronics destroyed by too much GPS spoofing vich is only common sense I ask you vot a vorld ve livink in. Spontaneous firing of antimissile system due to computer bug leading to destruction of four thousand seagulls and Bishop Rock Lighthouse.'
I wagged the head. 'Owning a boat,' I said, 'is tough stuff. The boat owner lurches from emergency to emergency. It is part of the delight of things to land up in a strange country having blown out an entire suit of sails -'
'Sails?' said Oleg.
'Things made of cloth that catch the wind and propel the boat hither and yon.'
'Like engine, then,' said Oleg.
'Not really. As I was saying. A strange country, boat filled up with dirty diesel, so no engine. What do you do?'
'Find vun who is responsible and shoot. Perhaps torture first.'
'Tch,' I said. 'Square the shoulders. Polish the diesel, clean the tanks - '
'Ah,' said Oleg. 'I tell captain to tell chief engineer to send serf into tank with brush.'
'Whatever. Improvise. This builds character.'
'Already I have character,' said Oleg. 'Anyvay, they have tooken the boat avay from me. And if I find out who did it, I will be buying him drink. Normal drink, not radioactive. My life without boat has no worry in it. It is glorious, and this Olga thinks also.'
'Excuse me,' I said, 'but I would have thought you had worries above and beyond the boat. Your bank accounts are frozen. Your planes are grounded. Your five houses in Belgrave Square have been confiscated, and all your immense wealth is inaccessible to you.'
'Sez you,' said Oleg, looking weaselly and dropping more gold dust into his vodka. 'There is always bitcoin and your so tolerant corporate structure in your so called Free Vurld plus flag of public convenience on merchant fleet. No, I am not short of bob or two. So the only thing that was really worrying me was the boat, it is psychological, vun dam thing after another. And now your fascist government have impounded boat, so no need to vorry about it no more.' He paused, ambushed by a sudden thought. 'But you know, Dave,' he said, and there was a tear in his eye, the Volga crocodile. 'I am to be honest very much missing the sea.'
'Then I suggest you swim home,' I said. 'Goodness. Is that the time already?'
I bumped into Oleg last week. You have probably read about Oleg. Took over most of the Russian cement industry in 1991 using high order commercial skills and a tank regiment. He was sitting behind a beaker of his usual vodka and gold dust, looking glum. 'Well, Oleg,' I said to him, 'I hear they have seized your boat.' They had, too. I had seen it in the papers. Five hundred feet long, missile defence system, four galleys, freshwater swimming pool, gym fully equipped for calisthenics and torture, usual stuff. 'Tough luck, Oleg,' I said, though my actual thoughts were, couldn't have happened to a nicer person.
Oleg smiled, calling to mind a Volga crocodile. 'No vay,' he said, 'sit down, have drink.'
'No,' I said, 'thank you,' for people who sit down and drink cocktails mixed by Oleg and his friends do not always get up again. 'Bad luck about the boat, though, really.'
'Bad luck?' said Oleg. 'Listen. For vun thing, there is the crew. Two crews, one for winter one for summer. One hundred twenty peoples in all, skippers temperamental like principal dancer with Bolshoi ballet. Air conditioning alvays on blink. Big problem trying to keep fish in giant aquarium alive, and DC electricity supply to torture chamber also big problem. Plus have you any idea what sea air does to a Picasso, let alone a Rubens, though Olga -'
'Your wife?'
'No vay. Olga my special friend who is nail varnish influencer. Olga thinks Rubens vimmin are fat. She is throwink shoes at Rubens. On a boat even quite big it is hard to get avay from people particularly Olga. There is also difficulty of getting in to harbours on French Riviera by reason of draught and tendency of guests to shoot people. And then there is all the sea stuff.'
'Sea stuff?'
'Rustiness. Osmosis. Engines. Generators always packink up, mussels in cooling water intakes and stabiliser system failure that makes Olga sick in Prada handbag. Electronics destroyed by too much GPS spoofing vich is only common sense I ask you vot a vorld ve livink in. Spontaneous firing of antimissile system due to computer bug leading to destruction of four thousand seagulls and Bishop Rock Lighthouse.'
I wagged the head. 'Owning a boat,' I said, 'is tough stuff. The boat owner lurches from emergency to emergency. It is part of the delight of things to land up in a strange country having blown out an entire suit of sails -'
'Sails?' said Oleg.
'Things made of cloth that catch the wind and propel the boat hither and yon.'
'Like engine, then,' said Oleg.
'Not really. As I was saying. A strange country, boat filled up with dirty diesel, so no engine. What do you do?'
'Find vun who is responsible and shoot. Perhaps torture first.'
'Tch,' I said. 'Square the shoulders. Polish the diesel, clean the tanks - '
'Ah,' said Oleg. 'I tell captain to tell chief engineer to send serf into tank with brush.'
'Whatever. Improvise. This builds character.'
'Already I have character,' said Oleg. 'Anyvay, they have tooken the boat avay from me. And if I find out who did it, I will be buying him drink. Normal drink, not radioactive. My life without boat has no worry in it. It is glorious, and this Olga thinks also.'
'Excuse me,' I said, 'but I would have thought you had worries above and beyond the boat. Your bank accounts are frozen. Your planes are grounded. Your five houses in Belgrave Square have been confiscated, and all your immense wealth is inaccessible to you.'
'Sez you,' said Oleg, looking weaselly and dropping more gold dust into his vodka. 'There is always bitcoin and your so tolerant corporate structure in your so called Free Vurld plus flag of public convenience on merchant fleet. No, I am not short of bob or two. So the only thing that was really worrying me was the boat, it is psychological, vun dam thing after another. And now your fascist government have impounded boat, so no need to vorry about it no more.' He paused, ambushed by a sudden thought. 'But you know, Dave,' he said, and there was a tear in his eye, the Volga crocodile. 'I am to be honest very much missing the sea.'
'Then I suggest you swim home,' I said. 'Goodness. Is that the time already?'
