There’s a rat in my flat but the real vermin are those in charge of our housing policy

As wages have stagnated and millions languish in underpaid or unpaid work, rents have continued to rise, because the government refuses to impose controls on private landlords.

There is a rat in my flat. I hear it before I fall asleep, munching its way through the pile of stolen socks and apple cores it has stashed behind the washing machine. I have tried traps and poison but I’m informed that this is simply one of the hazards of living underground.

My little basement flat is full of mould and spiders and is accessible only through somebody else’s front hall, yet despite the recent rodent invasion, it is still by far the nicest of the nine different places I have lived in since I came to London six years ago. During that time, I have lived with drug addicts and violent strangers and with the constant stress of insecurity, knowing that at any point my friends and I might be turned out with minimal notice. I’ve not been in one place long enough to get to know my neighbours. I have shared space with roaches, rodents and flatmates’ stoner boyfriends, all of whom will eat your cheese if you don’t hide it. Now, for the first time, I have my own front door to shut and for this unutterable luxury I am paying well over half of my wages.

When I say luxury, I mean it. Unusually among my peer group, I will probably not have to move again to a smaller, more expensive place in the next six months. For “Generation Rent”, this is the equivalent of a penthouse with a chocolate hot tub.

To most people who are young, unemployed or living precariously from payslip to payslip, the housing crisis is not abstract. It is horribly real. It’s about whether you can afford to turn on the heating as the nights get colder. Until recently it was about choosing whether to live in awful, cramped conditions closer to work, or to trade a two-hour commute for enough space to swing an anarchist tract. But a great many people no longer get that choice.

With rip-off landlords raising rents and unscrupulous politicians cutting benefits, vermin is the least of a renter’s worries. Rents are rising uncontrollably across the country, especially in the capital, where the price of a roof over your head rose by 7.6 per cent last year alone. But those who rent know that landlords have us over a barrel and we have no other options. For most, a mortgage is a vanishing dream and, because of the combination of rising rents, falling wages and benefit cuts, many are being forced out of their homes –moving elsewhere if they can afford it; if they can’t, squatting on friends’ couches, or in hostels, or on the street.

As well as the rat, which I have nicknamed Stanley in the hope that humanising it will make me less likely to lie awake listening to it methodically eating the skirting board, my conscience has obliged me to share my home with a rotating cast of friends with nowhere else to go.

As wages have stagnated and millions languish in underpaid or unpaid work, rents have continued to rise, because the government refuses to impose controls on private landlords. Instead, housing benefit has covered the shortfall between wages and rent – in effect, a state subsidy for the property-owning classes, which is rising year on year despite the benefit cap. In 2013, the state will pay £23bn directly to landlords. Most new claimants of housing benefit are working; they just can’t earn enough to cover basic housing. Instead of reforming the system by imposing rent controls, the coalition is telling ordinary working people that they are lazy and grasping and turfing them out of their homes if they happen to have an extra room, under the terms of the punitive “bedroom tax”, which its dwindling number of advocates insist we call the “spare room subsidy”.

So who is it, in these desperate times, that the coalition has decided to help out? Secure property owners or desperate renters? Can you guess? Are you sick of the rhetorical questions yet? Instead of supporting ordinary people to stay in their homes, the coalition is providing another boost to the property market by subsidising first-time homebuyers under its Help to Buy scheme.

This would be a stupid way to manage the housing stock even if we weren’t at serious risk of another property bubble. As it is, one has to wonder if there were some funny fumes in the Chancellor’s constituency home, the sale of which made him a £400,000 profit last year. Even Lloyds Bank has warned of dire consequences if steps are not taken to reduce housing inequality.

Property, however, is no longer primarily about keeping people warm and dry. Britain’s financial recovery has been based on rising house prices, particularly in London, where the global super-rich are buying up mansions, leading the New York Times writer Michael Goldfarb to suggest London housing has become “a global reserve currency”.

The most common centre-left response is a call for more houses to be built. It’s a fine idea – a house-building programme would create jobs and make it easier for the lowwaged and unwaged to live with dignity in one of the richest nations in the world. But building houses takes time and re-electing a Labour opposition that has shown little willingness to stand up for the immediate needs of the British working class will take longer. The hundreds of thousands of homeless and “hidden homeless” in Britain need places to live in right now; the millions more who are living in overcrowded, unhealthy, insecure homes with no prospect of anything better need a lifeline. The wealthy investors who own the million homes that are standing empty in this country at any one time do not.

You can only put up with so much freeloading vermin. The rat and I were getting on tolerably until two nights ago, when it decided to climb into bed with me for a snuggle. At which point, I indulged in a scream worthy of a Hitchcock blonde and spent the rest of the night shivering with the light on, googling the price of cabinet members’ second homes and wondering how keeping yourself off the streets in one of the most prosperous cities in the world got so hard.

When did keeping yourself off the streets in London become so hard? Image: Getty

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 17 October 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The Austerity Pope

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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.