Stevenage Museum was closed when I visited. But the church above it was open. St Andrew & St George, an airy Modernist concrete structure with a huge stained-glass window completed in 1966, the year England won the World Cup, was hosting a pantry to help locals out with a free cup of tea and a meal. The atmosphere was welcoming but restrained, a few people chatting, an older man eating a sandwich on his own, perched on a plywood pew.

Stevenage was once the future, a model for a new way of living. Its Modernism, mostly low-rise, functional and compact, looks almost quaint nowadays: an expression of a paternalistic era of state-sponsored building and council housing. In the 1950s, architects and urbanists came from all over the world to study the bold experiment that it embodied. Now it has become a kind of Modernist heritage, a version of a future that might have been.

Situated 27 miles north of London, Stevenage was the pioneering manifestation of the New Towns Act passed by parliament in 1946. It would be rapidly followed by Basildon and Bracknell, Corby and Crawley and, later, Runcorn, Ravenscraig, Cumbernauld and Telford — some successful, others a little less so. London had been devastated by bombing in the second world war, with more than a million dwellings damaged or destroyed, and the energetic new Labour government wasted no time in planning for a future dispersal of residents to beyond the war-torn, ragged and still industrial capital.

Now new towns are back as another new Labour government touts them as part of the solution to the UK’s housing crisis. The last government’s ambitious housebuilding targets were stymied by its own rural and suburban MPs, fearful of their constituents’ ire. Nimbyism has been a powerful force in politics. Almost everyone agrees on the need to build more houses — just not near where they live.

The new government’s legislative programme, set out in the King’s Speech this summer, suggested that communities would get a say on “how, not if” new homes are to be built. If the government is to confront the issue, new towns such as Stevenage must surely be back on the agenda. But are they, ultimately, a good thing?

Just before the election, the now deputy prime minister Angela Rayner revealed new visions of today’s towns of the future, renderings apparently created using AI that showed mistily nostalgic Edwardian-style red-brick mansion blocks, tree-lined streets and pavement cafés. Rayner, whose ministerial brief covers housing, suggested that only “attractive” homes would be built. Who, after all, objects to “attractive” housing? David Milner, director of the lobby group Create Streets (responsible for those images) writes: “We believe beautiful and sustainable design helps to boost housing delivery by winning over residents.”

The quasi-religious sanctity of the greenbelt is sensibly being questioned, and areas identified as ‘grey belt’ could be freed up

The historicism of those machine hallucinations is a revealing echo of lingering British anxieties over style and modernity. The nation (or at least its developers) proved a little resistant to Modernism in the early 20th century, its public buildings veering between Neo-Georgian or Art Deco and its housing dominated by Artsy-Craftsy, half-timbered semis with the occasional stab at a more “continental” Modernism. 

Stevenage represented a clean break. At its heart was the UK’s first Modernist town centre. Its design remains largely intact today; strolling through its streets, with their canopies, benches, green spaces and play areas, gives a little blast of postwar urban utopianism. The pedestrianised streets (also the nation’s first) might be a little shabbier than in mid-century photos; there are plenty of charity shops, slot-machine joints and a few big empty hulks (a defunct BHS and Poundland) but the centre is still lively. 

One focal point is an abstract, sculptural clock tower, a ghost of that most municipal centrepiece of the Victorian city, here transformed into a Modernist monument to the place itself: a ceramic map of the new town on one side, on another a portrait of Lewis Silkin, the minister responsible for establishing new towns. When Silkin arrived in the small old town of Stevenage next to the site in 1946 he was confronted by protests about the 10,000 new council homes in the Hertfordshire countryside. “It’s no good you jeering,” he shouted over the crowd. “It’s going to be done.”

New developments provoke huge resistance and the UK’s planning system is immensely amenable to objections. It follows that the government’s plans are heavily skewed towards reform of the planning system. The quasi-religious sanctity of the greenbelt is sensibly being questioned, and areas identified as “grey belt” (which might consist of car parks, derelict buildings, transport sidings, agricultural structures or petrol stations) could be freed up. Analysis by estate agents Knight Frank suggests such sites might accommodate up to 200,000 homes, mostly in the south and particularly the areas surrounding London.  

New towns, though, are something else. Although the government is consulting on potential locations, one of the most obvious sites is the Oxford-Cambridge corridor, a long-mooted plan for a “knowledge-intensive arc” that would have, more or less at its centre, the last and most successful of the UK’s new towns: Milton Keynes. This band of development could accommodate up to a million new homes and be planned around a revived Oxford-to-Cambridge rail line. One upside is employment and desirability — tech, biosciences and pharma are all well rooted here. The danger is proximity to London and the university cities — new towns could become dreary dormitory suburbs with little life of their own.

But whatever the risks, the need is there. According to a report by Schroders, the average house now costs nine times average earnings; in 1999 it was half that. If Britain is to house itself in the future, something will have to give.

Back at the church in Stevenage, I talked to rector Karen Mitchell. She introduced me to Jan and Mike Wilson who, she said, were the “real locals”.

“I’d been married for a year and I got a council house here after being on the waiting list for two weeks,” Mike told me. “When Stevenage was built, it was all council houses. Everything.” 

Jan adds: “Now our granddaughter has been on the waiting list for years. And it’s hopeless, there’s always going to be someone more needy.” This is not just perception. There are currently 1.3mn households on local authority waiting lists.

Unlike the similarly cash-strapped postwar Labour government — which facilitated a huge programme of slum clearance, prefabrication and council housing (along with founding the NHS and the welfare state) — this government appears to suggest that the new housing will be delivered largely by the private sector. 

What do we want towns to be now? Those twee pictures of Edwardian-style streets suggest a certain timidity

Is this really the best route? There is little incentive for developers to flood the market with new homes and risk lowering prices, while huge public investment is needed in creating a new town. The postwar new towns were built by development corporations, government-established bodies that oversaw their planning and infrastructure. But this kind of large-scale planning has faded away as local authorities have been successively starved of cash in the post-austerity years. The 300 extra planners the government has promised will barely make a dent.  

In 1946, as in 2024, a Labour government had to introduce legislation to create new towns. The question is whether we still have the same ambition and confidence. Stevenage was a determined statement of intent, of faith in modernity expressed through building. This was a town designed for the automobile age but with a pedestrianised centre and a station half an hour from London. What do we want towns to be now? Those twee pictures of Edwardian-style streets suggest a certain timidity. 

Just as important as how they look is how they work and how they are financed. One economic tool used to great effect after the second world war — and is being considered again — is land value capture. The change in designation of land from agricultural to residential use can result (according to a recent report by the Centre for Progressive Policy) in an uplift of around 275 times the original value. Land speculation in the UK has had a crushing effect on new development, with landowners sitting on land until its value soars through change of use. 

For the postwar wave of new towns, land was compulsorily purchased at its agricultural price — not including what is known as “hope value”, the expectation of uplift created by the proposals. The towns were then able to use that increase in the value of their holdings and reinvest in the community. Government assumed the risk and communities reaped the rewards. This method has faded away in the UK, yet the Dutch new town of Almere (often dismissed as dull but which I think is absolutely fascinating) managed to capture an astonishing 90 per cent of the uplift in value of its land for public infrastructure.

The vision of an enhanced community with the private house and garden at its centre also characterised earlier versions of the new town. Stevenage is sandwiched between Letchworth and Welwyn, two experiments in that much-studied English phenomenon, the garden city. The addition of the word “garden” has sometimes been used to appease objectors, as if sounding a little greener will assuage neighbours’ fears about the horrors of urbanity. The term is the invention of Ebenezer Howard, who wrote the short but enduringly influential Garden Cities of To-morrow (1898) — a book that emerged precisely from a fear of London as a traffic and smoke-choked hellhole.  

Garden cities were to be limited in scale, surrounded by inviolable green belts; to be walkable, connected by public transport; and to contain all the elements required for a productive and civilised life: factories but also theatres and social clubs, market gardens, back gardens and even forests. They employed Community Land Trusts (non-profit corporations that held the land on behalf of the community while also acting as long-term stewards of public space) to keep control and maintain a stake in future success. They were gently ridiculed at the time as priggish places of self-consciously Arts and Crafts cottages, socialist sandals and skittles, towns with no pub. Letchworth’s main industry was a corset factory and it boasted the world’s first traffic roundabout (1904).

Cities thrive on unpredictability, culture, commerce but also a pinch of vice — a cocktail that is difficult to plan for

But the idea proved astonishingly influential. It spread to Australia (Canberra was planned as a garden city), Singapore, Zelenograd near Moscow (Lenin was rumoured to have visited Letchworth), the US (Augusta, Georgia, Reston, Virginia and the New Deal Greenbelt communities), to Christchurch in New Zealand and Jardim América in São Paulo.  

If British garden cities are often mocked for their gentle suburbanity, you might also point to Milton Keynes, once derided as the zenith of late modern dullness but now a thriving city of more than 280,000 with an eccentric mix of architecture, landscape (influenced by prehistory and Stonehenge as much as by Los Angeles), “car-centricity” as well as walkability.  

The confidence in the future that spawned Milton Keynes in the late 1960s has faded. As prime minister, Gordon Brown attempted to launch a new generation of new towns in 2007 and, to generate more enthusiasm, christened them “eco-towns”. David Cameron’s coalition government  jumped on the garden city bandwagon and attempted to build one at Ebbsfleet in Kent, though it still it looks suspiciously like any other estate of executive homes. It remains, however, one of the most promising sites for a major new town with its connections to high-speed rail and the capital. Then chancellor George Osborne subsequently downgraded his ambitions to the painfully quaint notion of “garden villages”. 

Building by decree is rarely straightforward. Take Palmanova, a garrison town established in 1593 by the Venetian Republic and intended as a model city. There are rumours that Leonardo da Vinci was involved and, even if he wasn’t, its form was certainly influenced by his designs, planned in a star shape for optimal artillery defence. It was a disaster. No one wanted to live there. The climate was wrong, the location dull, metropolitan life absent. In the end the authorities resorted to populating it with convicts who were gifted free homes in a desperate attempt to keep it alive. It is still a soporific rarity, an unattractive Renaissance town.

Cities thrive on unpredictability, culture and commerce but also a pinch of vice. That cocktail is difficult to plan for and utopian regulation often kills it. While sometimes lovely, ideal settlements founded by well-meaning industrialists (Titus Salt’s Saltaire, Cadbury’s Bournville or Czech shoemaker Bata’s Zlín) are tainted by worker-capture; the same idea as giving tech employees free snacks to keep them on campus.

2.8mnResidents currently housed in the UK’s postwar new towns

Then there is Poundbury, Britain’s own retro-royalist utopia — a future that looks like a feudal past, only with parking garages and a branch of Waitrose. Built on land outside Dorchester belonging to the Duchy of Cornwall, this new town/extension was built in a vernacular style with a touch of classical, a little Georgian and a sort-of-medieval picturesque street plan. It’s undeniably popular. 

Meanwhile, our confidence in the future seems to have been hijacked by Big Tech billionaires with their missions to Mars and Moon-shots. For a while, “smart cities” seemed to be the future but these began to sound suspiciously like data-mining operations.  

If we have lost that faith in the future that characterised Stevenage, and the ability to build the necessary large infrastructure (see the sorry HS2 high-speed rail saga), what is left is to expand existing successful cities. This is where the “grey-belt” reappears, the easing of the urban corset. But there are problems in even agreeing to what a city (or a city extension) of the future might look like. 

The recent extraordinary reaction of the political right, in both the US and the UK, to the idea of “15-minute cities” — spinning the notion of a walkable, dense and well-distributed conurbation into a conspiracy theory about state control limiting citizens’ access to neighbourhoods in their cars — hints at these problems. Urbanists want compact quartiers, Paris-style, with local bakeries and surgeries; many homebuyers want double garages, driveways and big gardens. And the big developers that operate something close to a cartel in the UK market (their influence is unique in Europe and the results have been dire) like these better too — easier to build, and no problems with pesky infrastructure.  

Perhaps to counter the pervasive presence and influence of the housebuilders, there might also  be space to accommodate self-builders and eccentrics, places designated for experiments in new ways of communal living, new forms of ownership, new kinds of architecture. The rhetoric at the moment leans towards design codes and control, which is fine. But if the government is revising planning law, it could revisit rules facilitating residents to build their own more individual homes, suited to their particular needs. Almere allowed residents to design their homes any way they wish, with no aesthetic controls. The results are occasionally bizarre but they also accommodate eccentricity and individuality. Are these not a critical element of the English sense of identity? 

The postwar British new towns now house 2.8mn people and were, in retrospect, an audacious and incredible success. If there is a lesson to be drawn from them, it might be that government needs to take a central role. This is not something that can be left solely to a private sector that demands short-term profit. There is also an opportunity to revisit the commodification of housing that has led to the crisis. There are other forms of tenure beyond home ownership.

Cities take time to build. If there are a few mistakes along the way, they can be rectified in the future. And we can take heart in one thing: this has been done before.

Edwin Heathcote is the FT’s architecture critic

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Before he was known in the art world, Slawn set a challenge to his Instagram fans. If they wanted one of his customised T-shirts, in demand among his Gen-Z fan base, they should go to the Saatchi Yates gallery in Mayfair and ask for “an original Slawn” work. If his followers showed him a video of themselves doing this, he’d give them a shirt for free. The Saatchi Yates gallerists had never heard of Slawn before. But after this stunt, they would remember his name.

Two years later, Slawn has just completed his paintings for his first major solo exhibition, which is taking place at . . . Saatchi Yates. It’s as if he manifested the whole thing. Sitting in his north London studio, surrounded by canvases, Slawn looks like he has just rolled out of bed, in a green camo T-shirt and pyjama trousers, his grey beanie pulled low on his head, clutching a vape. He’s discussing the after-party for his exhibition’s opening night with a gallery employee. She says they need a list of names for the guest list soon, “to keep the randoms out”.

“You can’t do that,” Slawn, 23, replies. “You won’t be able to keep people out. I know this, because I always used to find my way into places where they didn’t want me. They say you’re not going to be able to, but I always found my way inside.”

Over the past couple of years, Slawn has set his sights on finding his way inside London’s art scene. His graffiti-style work has been sold at Sotheby’s and he was asked last year to design the trophy for the Brit music awards, putting him in the company of artists such as Damien Hirst, Tracey Emin and Anish Kapoor. Then there is the trendy café he runs near Brick Lane with his girlfriend, where he can often be found hanging out with his two sons, Beau and Baby.

Slawn’s studio is buzzing today. One woman sketches jewellery designs at a table, dreaming up future Slawn bling that he thinks might interest rappers. Another is painting a portrait by the wall, part of the community of friends Slawn invites to use his space. A flow of people come in and out chatting, joking, painting and rolling joints. Slawn’s phone vibrates constantly — his mum calls from Nigeria, then his two-year-old son appears on FaceTime to say hello. In the middle of the room, a 15-year-old boy Slawn met while skateboarding is doing pull-ups from a beam under the ceiling. He can only manage one at the moment, but Slawn encourages him: “Yeah, two now. Go ahead, three. That’s how you build strength, bro.”

He says the kid reminds him of his hyperactive younger self. Born in Lagos as Olaolu Akeredolu-Ale, Slawn’s artistic imagination was nourished by a spell working for the country’s first skateboard company, Wafflesncream. When he was 18, he and some friends started the skatewear brand Motherlan, which attracted the interest of designer Virgil Abloh. Moving to London in 2018 to study graphic design at Middlesex University, Slawn began painting during the pandemic. This is when he arrived at his signature style, a free-flowing series of playful doodles, like Keith Haring by way of streetwear brand Obey.

Despite the myriad influences, his work, which generally uses acrylic and spray paint on canvas, regularly features the same ominous face. When asked who this is, Slawn says he wonders if it might be himself, and whether that makes him a narcissist. His style sometimes plays with caricatures resembling racist imagery, which he frames vaguely as social commentary but which has attracted criticism online.

Slawn doesn’t claim to be a technically gifted painter. “I’m not conventionally the best artist, I’m not trained,” he says. “I barely know how to draw a face.” What he is undeniably good at is grabbing attention online and keeping it. He first gained popularity on Instagram (where he now has 312,000 followers) with a series of stunts where he gave out his artworks, culminating in a run of fight clubs where fans came to his studio and boxed each other for the chance to win an original piece. It is clearly his large social media following as well as his artistic reputation which has led to brand collabs with companies such as Rolex, Louis Vuitton and Rimowa.

What does he think attracts people to his art? “A lot of times it’s your personality or the idea of yourself that you’re selling. That’s what makes it valuable. I might have spent less than an hour doing the painting, but you’re taking my whole life as well . . . You’re buying not just a physical work but a story, as well — a little part of me.”

Slawn’s next project is an installation at the 1-54 contemporary African art fair in Somerset House, London, for which he will customise two red double-decker buses with spray paint — though at the time of our interview, he hasn’t decided exactly what he’s going to do yet. “You know what, actually — ” he sits up, clicking his fingers, suddenly excited. “I should get a Tube train. How can I get one?” He starts googling Tube trains for sale and finds one for £8,000. “Yo, you can buy them! This is insane!” What would he do with a Tube train? “I could make a sculpture with it, or just paint it.” Is he actually going to buy one? He doesn’t pause: “I think so. I’ll just need to find somewhere to put it.”

October 10-13, 1-54.com

SAM Jackman would never have been able to afford to build her own home had she not inherited a derelict bungalow and plot.

Back in 2014, the 41-year-old was extremely lucky to have the run-down property in Calstock, Cornwall, where she grew up, gifted to her by her parents.

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When Sam was given the plot of land by her father as an early inheritance, it had a run-down prefab bungalow on it, along with a dilapidated workshop space.

The former teacher and art museum worker, who now owns her own business, We Wear Boost, told The Sun: “My father was not keen on doing up a property himself, given the effort required, so wanted to pass it on.

“As I’m an only child, he gave me the opportunity to do it instead.

“As I didn’t have to purchase the plot, this saved me a major expense, meaning all money could be channelled into the self-build.”

Sam’s original plan had been to completely gut the bungalow and renovate it.

But, once she discovered there were asbestos issues and after speaking to some experts, she realised it would cost roughly the same to tear it down and build a new home from scratch.

It took Sam around 12 months to build her own home on a budget after planning permission was granted, costing around £180,000 in total.

She has now lived there for just under a decade along with her partner, David, and their son, Charlie, 14 – and she absolutely loves it.

Financing the project

But financing the project was no mean feat.

“Initially, I thought I’d just get a self-build mortgage,” she said. “But trying to get this over the line turned out to be really difficult.”

The couple also contemplated selling their home to release equity. At the time, Sam, her partner and son were living near Callington, just a few miles away from Calstock.

“I soon realised that I’d need to sell our home to help fund the build, because the mortgage kept falling through,” she said.

“I put it on the market expecting it to take a few months to sell, but we received a full asking price offer within two days – and were asked to move out within a week.”

As Sam needed the money from the house sale, she agreed.

“But I’d effectively made us homeless,” she said. “Then suddenly, the stars aligned, and we found out my aunt had a rental property nearby that we could move into.”

This allowed Sam to sell her home and release around £30,000 in equity. In addition, she then took out a bridging loan for around £100,000. 

“The rate on this was quite expensive, but it was only temporary, so it was affordable in the short term,” she said.

“Fortunately, as the self-build took shape, getting finance became easier.

“Once the property had bathrooms and a kitchen it became possible to get a ‘normal’ residential mortgage with a much more competitive rate.”

Breaking down the costs

One of the biggest expenses for Sam’s project was site clearance.

“I reckon I paid out about £45,000 on the preparatory work,” she said.

“This included things such as asbestos surveys, which came in at around £6,000, and landscaping, which cost around £20,000. Then, once the actual build began, things felt as though they were progressing.”

Specialists had to be brought in for jobs such as the electrics and plumbing, too.

How Sam saved money on her build

But, Sam was very efficient when it came to buying fixtures and fittings, which massively brought down her costs.

And a key part of Sam’s success in keeping costs down throughout the build was budgeting very carefully.

She said: “I was very honest with myself about the amount I had to spend in total, and therefore very disciplined about only choosing fixtures and fittings that were affordable.

“I decided not to go for high-end, and instead, opted for things like a ‘ready-made’ Howdens kitchen and Karndean vinyl flooring, which is easy to install and really hard-wearing too.”

She also focused on making it energy-efficient from the get-go to save money on her bills once she started living there.

“We opted for an air source heat pump,” she explained.

“As the property didn’t have gas, I thought the pump was worth investing in.

“We got solar panels installed, too, which have helped us save on our electricity bills.”

Another of Sam’s clever money-saving ideas was to host ‘painting parties,’ where friends and neighbours came to help with the decorating.

“When you’ve got to paint a large three-bed property entirely from scratch, you realise it’s going to take ages,” she said. “But with everyone chipping in, the job got done far more quickly and cheaply.”

She also opted to just have three larger bedrooms rather than more smaller bedrooms, which was actually more cost-efficient.

Instead, she spent that money on things she really wanted.

“The house also has a beautiful fireplace, underfloor heating and huge windows to enjoy the far-reaching views,” she explained.

Having land around the property has meant Sam has had room to expand over time, too.

How to keep costs down on a self-build

Marc von Grundherr, director of property firm Denham and Reeves, said it’s important to prioritise spending money on more difficult tasks, while tackling easier tasks yourself to cut costs.

“Painting, clearing, even basic landscaping of the garden are all achievable tasks that can be accomplished with time and effort,” he said.

“The more important aspects of a home, such as gas, electric and plumbing are always best left to a professional.”

Meanwhile, Tarquin Purdue, CEO of HaMuch.com, said materials can make a huge difference to how much a build costs.

“Materials make a huge difference to cost, especially during a property renovation, and the professionals will always ensure they use the right materials based on the budget they are given – so why wouldn’t you do the same? 

“Researching local suppliers, compare prices and look for deals, discounts and sales. It all adds up and it will give you a comprehensive view of what you can get from where and for the lowest price.

“If you are tight for cash, consider the next best alternative. Laminate flooring over hardwood, tiles flooring over marble, granite kitchen tops instead of quartz, composite decking over real wood or matte paint over expensive wallpaper.”

Inside the ‘saddest’ Grand Designs house

Savills’s listing reads: “The property represents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take on and finish the specification and fit out of one of the UK’s most spectacularly situated coastal homes.

“The bespoke design has been brought to life through impressive engineering, with the building being anchored to the bedrock, blending whitewashed elevations with steel and glass, culminating with a lighthouse feature at one end giving almost 360-degree views of the coastline.

“The position combines privacy with a diverse range of breath-taking views, all set in around 3 acres, which includes a large area of foreshore, a private tidal beach area and coves.”

The property is set in three acres of land and is equipped with an infinity pool and a hot tub as well as a spacious driveway.

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Nic Chbat, director of Match Property estate agents in North Devon, who previously assisted with finding a buyer last year said at the time the sale stalled after the timeframe for the sale “expired”.

He added the previous buyer was “still wanting to buy the property,” and the sale was still expected to proceed.

The new listing though would suggest the purchase was never made with the sale now being handled by London-based estate agents Savills.

A spokeswoman for both Savills and the receivers Bellevue Mortlakes said: “The sale represents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to purchase one of the UK’s most spectacularly situated coastal homes and for the buyer to put the finishing touches to the property’s interior to their own specification.

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“The current sale price (offers in excess of £5.25m) represents fair value noting the prevailing economic and heterogeneous nature of this opportunity.

“The property has panoramic sea views and is set in grounds of over three acres, including foreshore and a tidal beach, with accommodation extending to over 6,260 sq ft.

“The detached guest lodge/holiday let accommodation extends to about 1,270 sq ft and is included in the sale price.

“Subject to registration with the agents, the receiver has provided an extensive suite of information and supporting documentation relating to the building’s history, construction and title, which are available via an online data room.”

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Brits have become partial to wine over the years. As a nation, we drink 10 times as much wine as we did in 1974 — a whopping 37 bottles each a year.

Sales of premium wines have increased steadily. While collectors — and investors looking to add alternative (and tax-efficient) assets to their portfolio — have paid out record sums in the past decade: a bottle of Romanée-Conti 1945 sold for $558,000 in 2018.

However, if your busy life doesn’t permit enough time to attend the best tasting events, then a wine club may be for you.

I’m pleased to say that the best wine suppliers and importers in the UK all have delivery services and will match their best supply to your taste buds on request.

It goes without saying that the most exclusive retailers can be exceptionally expensive. But if you fancy exploring a range of fine wines before committing, here are my suggestions for the wine subscription services.

Best established wine club

With 50 years of experience and more than 100,000 customers, Laithwaites wine subscriptions are a popular choice for the discerning connoisseur or wannabe sommelier. The wines are themed each month with the ‘occasional treat’ thrown in too. Laithwaites wine subscriptions start from an eminently reasonable £40 a month — but that’s for four bottles, which won’t get anyone I know through the weekend. So head for the 12 bottles a month deal at £90. And there’s 40 per cent off your first box at the moment to lure you in. Laithwaites

Best for budding wine experts

Unpretentious, yet allowing you to build up to becoming a big spender, Perfect Cellar has a vast range of options for the novice or expert. You can even purchase tasting boxes featuring wines that grace the tables of Michelin-starred restaurants. Membership brings you expert advice, virtual cellars, ‘Cellar coins’ (store credit), technological innovations and more, from £33 a month. More exclusive levels are available, including The Collector Club, which is limited to 100 members/collectors (minimum spend £5,000 a year). Perfect Cellar

Best of British

The esteem of English vineyard wines has been growing for a decade, but they’re still less widely available than bottles from other, more established regions. So, if you want to sample a regular selection then Corkk has a range of subscription services. Starting from £19.50 and rising to £312 if you fancy 12 bottles of the best fizz each month, you will receive a selection of the best of British wines from established vineyards to artisan winemakers. All the better for treating your friends to a taste test. Corkk

THOUSANDS of Brits across the UK are eligible to receive up to 50% off their first home – but may not even realise it.

With house prices steadily rising again, it’s more important than ever that first time buyers take advantage of whatever support is available to help them get on the housing ladder.

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Yet, thousands of young people could be missing out because they simply don’t realise they’re eligible.

Fiona Peake, personal finance and consumer expert at Ocean Finance, said: “Many UK residents may not realise they’re eligible for first-time buyer schemes, which can be a real game-changer for getting on the property ladder.

“Based on our [recent] survey, an estimated 50% of first-time buyers could be missing out on these government initiatives, simply because they’re unaware of them or assume they wouldn’t qualify.”

There are a number of schemes that give people a discount on their first home.

But one particular scheme, the First Homes Scheme, allows first-time buyers to pick up a new-build home built by a developer for a whopping 30% to 50% off the asking price.

The scheme, which launched back in June 2021, also allows a buyer to purchase a home through an estate agent, provided that the home was previously acquired through the scheme.

But who is eligible and how do they apply?

Who is eligible for the First Homes Scheme?

The First Homes scheme is eligible for first-time buyers across England who meet certain criteria.

In order to qualify, a buyer must be able to get a mortgage for at least half the price of the home.

The new home also needs to cost less than £250,000 after the discount has been applied, or £420,000 in London.

And the collective household income of the buyer, or buyers, purchasing the home must not exceed £80,000 a year before tax, or £90,000 if they are buying in London.

In some cases, local councils may prioritise giving First Homes discounts to key workers, people who already live in the purchase area, or those on lower incomes.

For those in the armed forces and their relatives, exemptions do apply.

How do you apply?

In order to access the scheme, typically a first-time buyer will need to contact a new-build developer and tell them they would like to buy through the housing scheme.

If you’re purchasing from a previous First Homes buyer, you will need to contact their estate agent and say you intend to buy through the scheme. 

Once you have been confirmed as having passed the eligibility criteria, they will help you complete your application. 

In some cases, you may need to pay a reservation fee if the property is a new build. Don’t worry though, you will get the fee back if your application isn’t successful.

Developers may also offer you incentives such as free goods or cash back, but these are unlikely to be worth more than 5% of the discounted purchase price.

How does the First Homes scheme work?

The First Homes scheme is designed to assist first-time buyers onto the housing ladder in an increasingly difficult market.

The average house price in the UK is £287,924, according to the latest data from Land Registry.

This means that through the First Homes scheme, a buyer could expect to save between £86,377 and £143,962 on their first home.

However, there are some pros and cons to consider before buying through the scheme:

Pros

• You don’t need such a big deposit
• You can take out a smaller mortgage, meaning smaller monthly repayments

Cons

• When you sell the home, you must pass the discount onto the buyer
• You can typically only sell to someone else who is eligible for the scheme
• You can only find eligible properties by checking with local developers

What other schemes are available?

The mortgage guarantee scheme

The mortgage guarantee scheme has encouraged more banks and building societies to offer 95% loan-to-value (LTV) mortgages, meaning you only need a 5% deposit. 

This scheme is available for both first-time buyers and second steppers across the UK. One caveat is the property must not cost more than £600,000 and it must be your only home.

We recently revealed how this scheme is very under-utilised, accounting for just 3.8% of transactions for 18-30-year-olds between 2021 and 2023.

The Shared Ownership scheme

Shared ownership is designed to help people on low incomes in England through purchasing part of the property and renting the rest.

You can start with as little as 10% and increase the part you own when you can afford to, which is known as ‘staircasing’.

The other benefit here is that you only pay a deposit on the share of the property you are buying. 

To be eligible for the scheme you must have a total household income of less than £80,000 a year, rising to £90,000 in London.

The Lifetime ISA

The Lifetime ISA is there to help first-time buyers save for a deposit by topping up their savings by 25%, or to aid in retirement. 

As part of the terms, an account holder can save up to £4,000 a year, which the government will add a 25% bonus to.

In more good news, any interest an account holder incurs is tax free.

In order to be eligible to receive the bonus, you must use the money to buy your first house up to a maximum £450,000 purchase price, or to aid your retirement.

Interested parties can only open the account between 18 and 39, but you can keep paying into it until 50.

Help to Build: Equity loan

The Help to Build: Equity loan scheme is a government initiative for those who wish to build their own home or convert a commercial property into one.

This option is for both first-time buyers and those looking for their second home.

The Government will top up a buyer’s deposit with a loan that is interest free for five years.

The equity loan amount of the total estimated cost can vary however, ranging from 5% to 20%, and rising to 40% in London.

To access the initiative, you must apply for a self-build mortgage from an approved lender first, and then apply for a Help to Build loan.

As you progress through the build you will receive parts of the mortgage to cover the costs, and the build must be complete within three years.