“Landlords are stressed about school fees”, and other gems from the worst housing press release ever sent

To let signs in Bath. Image: Matt Cardy/Getty.

I work for REDACTED, and wondered if you would be interested in a story about how a third of landlords are stressed out from troublesome tenants due to the demands placed on them

So begins a press release that found its way to me this morning. (Okay, that's not an exact quote – it doesn't actually say “redacted”. I've decided to cut the name of the company being PRed for reasons that will become apparent.) It relates to a survey, conducted to promote the work of a firm which provides property management services for Britain’s hard-pressed landlords.

I, like every other journalist on the planet in the 21st century, get a lot of badly targeted press releases: ones covering deeply boring things, or, sometimes, quite interesting things that are, nonetheless, entirely irrelevant to anything I write about. It's the cost of doing business and, while I may wonder, in an idle moment, what crime I committed in a previous life that meant I now deserved to be on the refrigeration industry's mailing list, it doesn't really matter in any serious way.

But  just occasionally, one reaches me* that is relevant, but which is so horrifically, magnificently, mis-targeted, that it's genuinely worth writing up – albeit not for any of the reasons that the PR agency who sent it think it is. This is one of those times.

Here's that first sentence again:

I work for REDACTED, and wondered if you would be interested in a story about how a third of landlords are stressed out from troublesome tenants due to the demands placed on them, and their dependence on the rental money received to pay of [sic] their mortgage (50%), children’s university (10%) and school fees (13%).

Okay. So the story here is that buy-to-let landlords – people who, in the middle of the worst housing crisis this country has seen in decades, pretty much by definition own more than one home; people whose income comes to a large extent from the labour of people who are younger and poorer than themselves – those poor, honest, hard-working landlords are feeling the squeeze.

They're not greedy, or anything, you understand – they're “dependent” on that money. Those school fees won't pay themselves. (Unrelated: In 2014, according to the Citizen's Advice Bureau, after accounting for housing costs, 21 per cent of the population were in poverty.)

Landlords are, if anything, the victims here – victims of those “troublesome” tenants, who make their lives a living hell, by demanding things like working central heating and ceilings that don’t double as water features and homes that are in any way fit to live in. Why can’t they just be grateful, eh?

The research which polled 500 British landlords, found that 83% of landlords spend up to £5000 per year on property repairs for their rental home.

Notice the way the figures there are in bold. Our eyes are meant to be drawn to them, presumably in a “oh my god how terrible” sort of a way.

Actually, though, they’re a bit baffling. A majority of landlords “spent up to” £5,000 per year? Is that a maximum? Does that mean the other 17 per cent aren’t spending anything? (In which case, given that houses need maintenance, WTF?) Or do they spend more than that? In which case, why not emphasise that figure?

Either way, we’re clearly meant to be shocked by this figure – “Landlords have to pay money to maintain their properties? My god!” – so let’s assume the tiny violins are out and move on. 

Further findings from the research revealed:

Over a third (34%) of landlords receive calls in the middle of the night from renters

Without knowing what those calls are, that sentence is a bit meaningless. If the tenants are ringing for a chat, or asking the whereabouts of I. P. Freely, I can see how that’d be a bit irritating. If it’s “the radiator just exploded, send help”, it’s a different matter.

Minor issues for call outs ranging from unblocking drains (23%)...

Doesn’t sound like a minor issue, but okay.

... lost keys (19%)...

These landlords would rather their tenants just changed the locks without bothering them, would they?

...and changing a light bulb (13%)

Okay, I’ll give them that one. That is a minor issue. Change your own bloody lightbulbs, tenants. Can’t reach? Get a step ladder. Get a bloody step ladder, you lazy, lazy sods.

43% of landlords are unclear on what their current responsibilities are when it comes to repairing their property

That’s a genuinely newsworthy figure, and one which an organisation which offers management services to landlords obviously has an interest in promoting. But it is, charitably, an incredibly strange fit with the “oh poor landlords” tone of the rest of the release. 

There’s more – there’s much more – but the bits that look good aren’t interesting, and the bits that are interesting don’t look good. Halfway down the release there’s this golden nugget:

Landlords spend 11 hours a month managing their property

Last November, the average rent in the UK stood at just under £9,000 a year. To earn that sum, landlords have to invest just over one working day a month.

I think we can be pretty confident that the tenants living in those homes are working a lot more than 11 hours every month to pay that bloody rent.

I decided not to name and shame either the agency who this release was meant to publicise, or the PR firm who wrote the release. That might look a bit of a cop out – but I’m being a bit self-indulgent in writing this rant in the first place, and this is exactly the kind of write up that PRs are hired to avoid, and the PRs in question asked nicely. I'm punishing them enough by writing this: I quite genuinely have no desire to get anyone in actual trouble.

But I decided to write it up anyway, because the release does, inadvertantly, sum up everything that is wrong with many landlords' attitudes to their role and their tenants. It implies we are meant to feel sorry for the people who are hogging Britain’s scarce housing stock, because they’re worrying about how to pay their kids school fees. It implies that tenants are being a pain in the backside by expecting to have a functional home, or a copy of the key to their own front door. It implies that being a landlord should be easy.

Well – it shouldn’t. Being someone’s landlord doesn’t just give you access to a significant chunk of their salary every month. It gives you certain responsibilities, too, to ensure their home is warm and well-maintained and that it doesn’t smell of sewage because the drains have got blocked again. Becoming a landlord is not a lifetime guarantee of free money.

The buy-to-let classes have already collected most of Britain’s housing wealth, through a combination of well-timed investment and having been born at the right time. Congratulations. I’m happy for them. But since they’ve already got the money, do they really need our sympathy, too?

Jonn Elledge is the editor of CityMetric. He tweets as @jonnelledge.

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*Full disclosure: This release was never actually sent to me personally, but to a friend who also writes about housing stuff, and who forwarded it to me in a “WTF” sort of way. It's also, for some reason that entirely escapes me, embargoed for Saturday. But since I'm a) not naming the firm and b) am about to rip the release to shreds, it doesn't seem worth worrying about.

 
 
 
 

A helpful and informative guide to London, for the benefit of the New York Times editorial board

The sun rises over quaint old London town. Image: Getty.

It’s like with family members you hate: it’s fine for you to slag them off, but if anyone else has, you’re up in muted, backhanded arms about it.

Yesterday, the world’s number one London fan the New York Times tweeted a request for experiences of petty crime in the city. This was met by a deluge of predictably on-brand snark, like “Sometimes people scuff my leg and only apologise once”, and “Dicks who stand on the left-hand-side of tube escalators”. This served the dual purpose of uniting a divided London, and proving to the NYT that we are exactly the kind of chippy bastards who deserve to constantly lose their phones and wallets to petty crime.

By way of thanks for that brief endorphin rush, and in hopes of leading things in a more positive direction, I’d like to offer the Times this uplifting guide to London, by me, a Londoner.

I take my London like I take my coffee: on foot. If you are with someone special, or like me, like to reimagine your life in the format of Netflix dramady as you walk alone on Sundays, I can highly recommend the Thames Path as a place to start.

Kick things off next to Westminster, where we keep our national mace in the House of Commons. Useful though the mace might prove in instances of street theft, it is critical that it is never moved from the House. It acts as a power source for our elected representatives, who, if the mace is moved, become trapped in endless cycles of pointless and excruciatingly slow voting.

Cross Westminster Bridge to the Southbank, where in the manner of a spoiled 2018 Oliver Twist, you can beg for a hot chocolate or cup of chestnuts at the Christmas market for less that £8. Remember to hold your nose, the mutton vats are pungent. Doff your cap to the porridge vendor. (LOL, as if we make muttons in vats anymore. Box your own ears for your foolishness.) Then buy some hemp milk porridge, sprinkle with frankincense and myrrh, and throw it at the pigeons. There are thousands.

In the spring, head a little further south through Waterloo station. If you pass through the other side without getting ABBA stuck in your head, Napoleon’s ghost will appear to grant you three wishes.

Proceed to the Vaults, which is like the rabbit warrens in Watership Down, but for actors and comedians. No-one knows the correct way in, so expect to spend at least 45 minutes negotiating a series of increasingly neon graffiti tunnels. Regret not going to art school, and reward yourself upon your eventual entry with a drink at the bar. Browse the unintelligible show programme, and in no circumstances speak to any actors or comedians.

When you emerge from the Vaults three days later, turn back towards the river and head east. Enjoy the lights along the Thames while you pick at the spray paint stains on your coat. 


After about 20 minutes, you will reach the Tate Modern, which stands opposite St Paul’s Cathedral. Close to sunset, the sky, water, and cathedral might turn a warm peach colour. The Tate remains grey, coldly confident that for all its brutalist outline, it was still fantastically expensive to build. Feel grateful for that loose knit jumper you stole from the Vaults, and go inside.

Spend two minutes absorbing the largest and most accessible art, which is in the turbine hall, then a further hour in the museum shop, which is next to it. Buy three postcards featuring the upstairs art you skipped, and place them in your bag. They will never see the light of day again.

Head further east by way of Borough Market. Measure your strength of character by seeing how many free samples you are prepared to take from the stalls without buying anything. Leave disappointed. Continue east.

At Tower Bridge, pause and take 6,000 photos of the Tower of London and the view west towards parliament, so that people know. Your phone is snatched! Tut, resolve to take the embarrassment with you to your grave rather than shame Her Majesty's capital, and cross the river.

On the other side of the Bridge, you could opt to head north and slightly east to Shoreditch/Brick Lane/Whitechapel, where you can pay to enjoy walking tours describing how some pervert murdered innocent women over a century ago.

Don’t do that.

Instead, head west and north. through the City, until you reach Postman’s Park, which is a little north of St Paul’s, next to St Bartholomew's hospital. Go in, and find the wall at the far end. The wall is covered in plaques commemorating acts of extraordinary and selfless bravery by the city’s inhabitants. Read all of them and fail to hold back tears.

Then tweet about it.