What’s wrong with the ‘Hotel of Mum and Dad’?
Getting on the ‘property ladder’ pretty much as soon as you get your first job, is, in relative terms, a new thing. My grandparents rented until retirement, when pension lump-sums meant they could finally buy. My parents lived in upstairs in the (still rented) Hotel of Mum and Dad until I was four.
Then came the go-go ‘80s, credit was easy and we all had to get a mortgage and a skip outside somewhere of our ‘own’. Even those who properly thought they might rent for life were given the ‘right to buy’ their council house.
Since then, there have been three or four crashes which made many wish they’d never left Mum and Dad. As a both a parent and one who had a room there for more than a year or two, I’d say there should be no stigma to it. Think of it in the same, rose-tinted, better-times terms that we’re encouraged to think of many other aspects of our Great Nation’s past.
