Giving up the conservatory tax leaves the Green Deal in tatters

The government's flagship environmental policy is now tied to an unpopular measure – but they've got

We’ve had the granny tax, the pasty tax, and the caravan tax. This week the phrase "conservatory tax" was added to the lexicon of media uproar over Coalition plans.

The fuss, which started last week over an alleged attempt by the government to force honest homeowners to spend hard-earned cash on energy upgrades to their homes every time they get the builders in, has now been neutralised by heavy Downing Street briefing that Cameron will block the policy. 

However, the story of this debate about this previously obscure amendment to building regulations is particularly instructive as it goes to the heart of how the government has failed to fulfil Cameron’s pledge to be the "greenest government ever".

And furthermore, Cameron’s intervention may sound the death knell for the most genuinely progressive environmental policy from the Coalition, the Green Deal.

The story is complicated and has been widely misreported. Basically, it goes like this. In January Eric Pickles’ Communities department issued a consultation on changes to the part of building regulations that covers the energy performance of homes, called Part L. This contained a measure called, in Whitehall jargon "consequential improvements" – a policy twice considered by New Labour during its decade in office, and twice rejected by ministers as too controversial.

The policy says that whenever a homeowner makes a significant improvement to his or her home, then that home-owner also has to commit to making improvements to the energy efficiency of the rest of the house, to make it closer to the energy performance standards required in modern buildings.

Seen as vital by environmentalists, the policy makes a lot of sense in theory. More than a quarter of carbon emissions come from people’s homes. And while new houses are actually built to very high energy standards, only a very few homes are built each year, meaning the vast majority of the homes we’ll inhabit in 2050 have already been built. Therefore there is no chance of meeting the UK’s long-term carbon cutting targets without addressing the existing stock of leaky Victorian and Edwardian homes.

But clearly "consequential improvements" is politically tricky. The cost to home-owners – even more to home-improvers, the very definition of the aspirational middle class voters every politician wants to woo – is the exact reason Labour twice ditched similar plans. So why did Pickles think he could get away with it?

The answer is the Green Deal. This policy, due to come in to effect in October, will allow the upfront cost of work to increase the energy efficiency of homes to financed by the private sector. As a home owner, you then pay the cost back through your energy bills, but the scheme is designed so that the better energy efficiency of your home mean those bills will still be cheaper.

Vitally, the existence of the Green Deal meant "consequential improvements" – the so-called conservatory tax - could be introduced without triggering direct up-front costs to homeowners. Overall, quite a clever package. Together the two had the potential to be a genuinely game-changing move to make energy efficiency happen. 

But Cameron’s swift capitulation to the Daily Mail’s outrage (nevermind that your conservatory would have to be 30 sq metres to trigger the improvements), potentially leaves the Green Deal in tatters. 

The government itself predicts that without consequential improvements, the uptake of the Green Deal will be miserable. It’s estimates say that, as it coincides with the ending of the regime of utilities subsidising energy-efficiency measures, the number of loft and cavity wall insulation installations is set to plummet – by up to 93 per cent in the case of loft insulation.

The reason is that simply taking away the up-front cost of improving your home isn’t enough to get people to do it – given all the attendant hassle – even if it makes financial sense. Put simply, people just have better things to do with their time.

Consequential improvements had been seen as the one measure that could conquer this home-owner inertia. But, yet again, the Coalition seems to have shown itself unwilling to make the case for Green measures when under pressure. Consistently other priorities, notably those driven by theTreasury, win out.

As a result manufacturers of insulation fear their market being killed overnight. Meanwhile building contractors, 22 of whom signed up to deliver home-improvements under the Green Deal, are already starting to scale back their expectations of the work it will generate. The signals from the Department for Energy and Climate Change are that when October does arrive, the Green Deal roll out will be limited – essentially just a pilot.

For the industry, of course, it is not just the benefit of insulated homes that the Green Deal was expected to create, but a huge number of jobs – 65,000 was the government’s final estimate. This is now imperilled, with the inevitable impact upon economic growth (or lack of it).

Meanwhile, Tory sources seem to be briefing the Guardian that the whole thing is a mess created by the Lib Dems – even though the Green Deal was originally a Tory policy.

Unless urgent action is taken, the government’s flagship green policy in the built environment (one, incidentally, with almost total support from both greens and builders) will turn into a fiasco.

Two women speak in front of a conservatory. Photograph: Getty Images

Joey Gardiner is assistant editor at Building magazine

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Why Philip Green's fall should bring down the honours system – but won't

Sir Shifty may fall in disgrace, but our ridiculous system will endure. No matter what's happening in the rest of politics.

Sir Philip Green’s Efficiency Review (2010) is his Das Kapital and it is still, happily, online. You can, if you wish, smirk at his recommendations to the government, which were solicited by David Cameron, I imagine, because when he stood next to Green he looked not like a 17th-century woodcut but like a tall, handsome semi-aristocrat.

“There is no motivation to save money or to treat cash ‘as your own’,” Green grumbles, before complaining, “There are inconsistent commercial skills across departments.” I am weeping with laughter at the whole report. But I’m not one of those BHS employees watching their pension ­vanish as the hideous cushions, throws and bedspreads pile up on the Green family yacht Lionheart. I instantly rename the yacht 14-Day Return Policy No More.

The days when Green could write efficiency reviews for people to ignore are gone. It is said that he could lose his knighthood, because that would be exciting and pointless. If so, I hope the ceremony features the formal rending of a garment from the BHS sale bin – perhaps a torn sock will be flung at his head? The Queen will not be happy, because de-knighting makes the ancient system of patronage look as ridiculous as it really is. Do intercessors between man and God make mistakes? Would they raise a man the Daily Mail now calls “Sir Shifty”? (I checked whether there was a Sir Shifty among the knights of the Round Table who flogged the Holy Grail to a passing tinker. There was not.)

Lord Melbourne advised Queen Victoria not to attempt to make her husband, Albert, a king, for if the people knew that they could make kings, they might unmake them. Green will discover this in his tiny way. But the elites should not hide their baubles. One fallen knight will not destroy the system (and I cannot think that Green will take £571m from his Lionheart cushion budget to save his knighthood by replenishing the BHS pension fund, because a knighthood is, in essence, just a tiny Bentley Continental that you wear over your nipple). One fallen knight should destroy the system but it won’t, because human conceit and docility are without end. Green will be shunned. Nothing will change.

One might have hoped that the Brexit vote would have alerted Cameron to the abyss between the electorate and the elected. (Even Alastair Campbell, chomping against Brexit, seemed to forget that he was as complicit in the alienation of voters as anyone else: government by sofa, teeth and war.) The response was glib, even for Cameron, a man so glib that I sometimes think he is a reflection in a pond. Brexit hit him like someone caught in a mild shower without an umbrella. He hummed at the lesson that history dealt him; he hummed as he left his page. It was the hum of the alpha Etonian caught out in a mistake, yes, but it was still a bloody hum.

His next act was to increase pay-offs to favoured courtiers against civil service advice and at public expense; then, it was reported, he nominated his spin doctor Craig Oliver and his former spin doctor Gabby Bertin for peerages, because the upper house needs more PRs. He has learned nothing. I wish him a relaxed retirement in which he will, apparently, write his four-page memoir, David Cameron: My Struggle (sub-subtitle: Eton Mess?). I hope he does not attempt to deny “the prosciutto affair”, because there is no need. It was not true. It was too pure a metaphor.

So the honours system, an essential part of our alienating politics, alongside dodgy donors, duck houses and George Galloway, endures in its worst form as conventional politics fails. It is a donkey sanctuary for political friends and Bruce Forsyth. I am not suggesting that everyone who has been honoured is dreadful – some lollipop ladies deserve to be patronised with an OBE (when there is no E any more), I am sure, and the lords, some of whom are excellent, are the functional opposition now – but the system can no longer be defended by the mirth potential of watching politicians ponder what light-entertainment celebrities might swing a marginal before being posthumously accused of rape. We must find something better before the house burns down. Perhaps a robust parliamentary democracy?

The problem is best expressed by the existence of a specialist consultancy called Awards Intelligence, which engages in “VIP brand-building” by soliciting awards. It sells “awards plans” from £795, which I could well imagine Philip Green perusing as he bobs about aboard Lionheart, were it not too late. The Awards Intelligence website tells us so much, though obliviously, about the narcissism of modern politics that I am tempted to reproduce it in full. But I will merely report that it asks:

"Did you know that you can join the House of Lords on a part-time basis as an Independent Crossbench Peer or a political peer affiliated to one of the main politial parties – even if you have ongoing work, family or community commitments!"

The message from Awards Intelligence, which boasts of a 50 per cent success rate, is clear: the legislature is part-time, it exists to “instil trust, add credibility and provide a platform for you to have your say” – and it can’t always spell “political”.

Sir Shifty and Awards Intelligence do not constitute the worst crisis in the history of honours, dreadful though they are. During the First World War the royal German cousins were stripped of their garters, so that British soldiers would not have to kill men of higher rank. But it is time for the Queen to stop pinning toys on nipples. They are part of a political system sweeping us, swiftly, towards the night.

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue