A home of one’s own

Look, I’ve had a pretty good 15 years in Britain. I can’t complain. I have a good job and I have a lot of friends; I have many hobbies and go on holiday several times a year. It’s basically as good as life can get for a young professional. Well, –ish.

Earlier this year, I noticed something about the flat I’d recently moved into. When it rained a lot outside, it would rain a little bit inside. As you may be aware, “rain” is a not infrequent phenomenon in Britain. Still, it took me several months to complain to the housing association who are renting out the flat.

Two years ago, in my last place, the washing machine stopped working one day. I tried to google the manual to see if I could fix it and found out that the washing machine was so old that no-one on the whole internet thought anyone could feasibly still be using one.

The only video I found was from a man whose hobby was to go through skips and poke around outdated appliances. I did not say anything to my private landlord. Instead, I started going to the laundromat in my neighbourhood every week.

Some years before that, I was living in a houseshare and our flat got broken into. The thieves had managed to get in by knocking the front door down, which showed just how secure our locks were. We told the landlord about it and they took 36 hours to send a locksmith, meaning that for over a day, four young women lived in a flat with a front door that couldn’t lock. We did not complain about it. I could give you more examples but you get the gist.

You may, at this stage, wonder why we never did say anything, about any of it. If you’ve read any of my columns before, you know I am hardly a shrinking wallflower. Hell, I’m French; loudly and annoyingly complaining is what I do best.

What I am not, however, is stupid. Renting a flat means being in a relationship where you have none of the power and the landlord has all of it. Sure, I could complain about this or that, and technically it is their legal duty to make sure that the property is fit for human habitation, but we all know that’s all academic.

If I complain about this or that and it irritates the landlord, they can always choose to turf me out, without even having to give a reason. Section 21 evictions, also called “no-fault evictions”, do more than any other piece of legislation to ensure that, in practice, tenants have very few rights.

What a joy, then, to have watched the Labour government announce this week that the Renters’ Rights Bill would be getting rid of those altogether. Once it becomes law, landlords will still be able to kick out tenants who violate their agreements, of course, but tenants will no longer have to live with this sword of Damocles endlessly hovering over their heads.

It’s hard to put into words just how much of a relief that is. Because of the sky high property costs in London and the south east, it is unlikely that I will ever be able to buy my own home, and many of my friends are in the same situation. It is a frustrating state of affairs, but has suddenly started looking a lot less daunting now that I know the law is changing.

For years, I had been worrying about the prospect of trying to have a family and raise a child in a place I knew would never be stable. That this will no longer be anywhere near as much of a concern is a real balm to the soul.

It also feels good to know that we renters are finally being seen as human and worthy of respect by the government, after years of empty promises and vague dithering. Starmer hasn’t exactly been flawless in his first few months as prime minister, but good news must be celebrated when it comes. Truly, a new dawn has broken.