Housing

Within the next year or two, I could go bankrupt. My mistake: to join a government-backed affordable housing scheme and purchase a one-bedroom flat in east London. For the past four years, it has been my pride and joy — not to mention my savings, my pension and my financial future. I was grateful for the government’s help in getting a foothold in the city. But now another government policy is hurtling towards me, against which I have no defence. Nor do potentially tens of thousands of first-time buyers and the owners of affordable housing in my position. It might be the next big scandal to hit the government. It’s

We will rue the day we all decided bullying was a bad thing. The consequence is that the inept, the imbecilic and the perpetually frit will hang on to their jobs and we will become a much less efficient country. By bullying I do not mean physically beating someone up and stealing their lunch money, which is what it used to mean when it had a proper meaning. I mean telling someone they’re useless and deserve to be sacked, which is what bullying means today. As R.D. Laing might have put it, that kind of bullying is a rational response to irrationality. The Home Secretary, Priti Patel, who is 5ft

‘I’m not going to your place, it looks like a crack den.’ It’s not exactly a vote of confidence when your mother describes your home that way. Admittedly, the bedsit I have lived in for ten years is tiny. There is no central heating. The white blinds have faded to yellow. It’s not much good for house parties: I could fit four people, five if I sat between the sink and the microwave. However, I would like to defend living in bedsits. Whenever I hear people complaining about housing in London, I wonder whether they have considered a bedsit. I’m autistic and work as a part-time carer, but even on

The Government’s commission on how to make new houses more beautiful – yes, that one – is set to publish its first report in the next few weeks. It no longer has a permanent Chair and it will be reporting to a different administration and a new prime minister, but its advice will be crucially important. In order to get new homes built in areas where opposition is most vociferous – which tend to be the places new homes are needed most – the house-building industry needs to change. Monocultural housing estates, once labelled the “turkey twizzlers of architecture” by the philosopher Alain de Botton, are simply not what the public wants.

In what Communities Secretary James Brokenshire described as ‘the biggest change to the private rental sector in a generation’, the government has announced a ban on so-called ‘no-fault evictions’ of tenants by their landlords. ‘By abolishing unfair evictions, every single person living in the private rental sector will be empowered’, Brokenshire claimed. The Prime Minister said that ‘Millions of responsible tenants could still be uprooted by their landlord with little notice, and often little justification […] This important step will not only protect tenants from unethical behaviour, but also give them the long-term certainty and the peace of mind they deserve.’ According to the BBC, this means that ‘Private landlords will no

I remember it so well: the existential angst, the self-doubt, the bitter railing against intergenerational inequality, all of which preoccupied me for much my twenties. The cause? Anxiety about getting on the housing ladder. When you’re in that desperate state, it’s all consuming. Owning your own home is the holy grail of adulthood. You imagine that if you achieve it, everything else will be alright, you will get on with the rest of your life, focus more on your career, somehow be more of a person. Flowers will grow in your garden, you’ll do things like chat to the neighbours and you will no longer be beholden to landlords, with

On turning 50, I realised I’d never own my own home. What bank would agree to give a mortgage to someone with no regular source of income? Even if I did somehow hold down a job, I would have just 15 years until retirement age. For a while, I was depressed. Owning your own home is the British dream. Why else would all those property shows I drool over be so popular? I won’t have anything to hand down to my kids. What sort of loser am I? Then I remembered: I live in a five-bedroom Victorian terrace in Islington, which is owned by the council. At £650 per month,

King’s Cross station at 10.30 p.m. is not a happy place. Most commuters have long returned to their centrally heated homes, leaving the concourse free for the homeless to roam randomly in search of a few coins from stragglers. I was there to catch a late train to Potters Bar last week and almost missed my Cambridge–bound service due to the numerous men and women who approached and asked for money. Some looked dishevelled, disturbed, miserable; others were polite and seemed resigned to rejection. I keep thinking about one man in particular. He said he was an ex-soldier — a ‘veteran of conflict’, as he put it — and that

The National Housing Federation isn’t used to Prime Ministers attending its annual conference. In fact, it’s not used to getting to know the same housing minister from year to year, as the job is the subject of so many reshuffles. Today Theresa May proudly told the body that represents housing associations that she was the first Prime Minister in history to speak at this event, adding: ‘To me, that speaks volumes about the way in which social housing has, for too long and under successive governments, been pushed to the edge of the political debate.’ Her speech then went on to say that she had made it her ‘personal mission