I AM A MOLE AND I LIVE IN A HOLE [49]

Houses never stand still – I have lived in our family home all my life, and I have seen every room change, with new ideas coming and going, furniture moving around, and how the home has grown with the size of our family. Years ago, we had looked at moving, but it was either that the housing market was too poor, or the taxes involved in moving were too great. Therefore, we extended our home sideways, as the size of our family grew, and out back, to take advantage of the view in our back garden.

What we never even contemplated, however, was our going underground. Our back garden, while being home to birds, bats, foxes, and the occasional badger, is also where some of our drainage system lies – playing with that will either wreak havoc on ourselves, or on the houses next door. Even more of a concern would be the total lack of direct sunlight – a basement room would be a fine place to tuck away the washing machine and tumble dryer, and anything that might otherwise be stashed away in the loft, but little else than that.

This is why the idea of “super-basements,” or “iceberg houses,” is an idea I cannot get past in my mind. Sure, you can have your cinema, or gym, or swimming pool, or wine cellar, but does the want for these status symbols mean you have to discount having fresh air as well? OK, perhaps for the wine cellar…

These types of developments are stereotypically found in Central London, where people have enough money to have them built, but a recent rise in stamp tax for more expensive properties makes it less desirable to move. The most famous of these is the extension to BBC Broadcasting House, where the BBC’s basement newsroom is seen on their news channel every half-hour – four studios lie below that, nestled between two Underground lines. Back at home, while still requiring permission, building a basement often can be a “permitted development,” an easier proposition than building above ground – therefore, everyone grab a spade!

I have stopped myself from experiencing the schadenfreude I get from seeing rich peoples’ houses collapse into their metaphorical, and all too real, holes – you can guarantee everyone will be reported in the news, given the same prominence as that old, pre-YouTube film of a water-skiing squirrel - but there is a sadness to why you would need to build a suburban, air-conditioned lair.

Everyone can go to a cinema, or a gym, or swimming pool, or a wine shop – you can do whatever you like. Once you have your own one, you can cut yourself off so easily. I can dream of the big house I would buy if I ever won the lottery, but what would I do with it? All of a sudden, there would be a lot of space for me to feel lonely. Why not go outside, in the open, find like-minded people? Contemplating my own super-basement will, thankfully, not be a possibility any time soon.

MY PINK HALF OF THE DRAINPIPE [14]

Here is all I knew about semi-detached houses: I live in one; they are a quintessentially British way to build a place to live; and they are less desirable than a detached house, but more than a terraced house or flat. The last of these made me wonder what kind of question "semis" are trying to solve, and why the answer means they make up about a third of all the housing stock in the UK.

The desirability factor can be seen on the map of any town, from as early as the nineteenth century – semis became a compromise between the rows of terraces found in the centre, and the larger detached houses found on the outskirts, where land was cheaper. This distinction has been muddied due to the spread of new semi-filled suburbs and estates, and the houses themselves being built at a lower cost, or lower standard. 

This is where I lose the point on why we build semis. If you look at one of the most important early examples, the Grade II-listed 3-5 Porchester Terrace, London W2, it is designed to look like a substantial detached house, with a colonnade topped with Grecian urns masking the front doors placed on opposite sides. The designer, John Claudius Loudon, better known as a landscape gardener, wanted the houses to appear as one, giving a sense of dignity to both, rather than each simply being a mirror image of the other.

The semi my mother grew up in, a simpler, more mass-produced post-war design, did keep the front doors on opposite sides, but this was already rare enough to look quite strange, and it annoys me to see how a later occupier has since moved its entrances around to the front, matching what others did to theirs in the same road. But, as extensions, white UPVC windows and loft windows have also been added through the road, the original look was lost long ago.

Regardless of how they now look, semis most adequately fill the need to cost-effectively build a house where someone would actually want to live. They came with a desire to make the area they were found better, giving rise to both front and back gardens, bringing running water inside the house, model towns like Port Sunlight and Bournville, the Garden Cities, cul-de-sacs, building societies, and the mortgage. The semi remains the British middle-class dream, even if you don’t want to think in those terms.

…and yet, semis also exist in across Europe, Scandinavia, Australia, Canada and even the United States – what was their thinking? All I know is, when singing “Santa Baby,” Eartha Kitt (or, if you like, Kylie Minogue) wanted Santa to “fill my stocking with a duplex and [cheques],” they could have set their sights a little higher than just a semi-detached house.