The grand design behind Johnson’s home makeover

One of the more addictive British TV shows is Grand Designs, in which cameras follow a couple attempting an ambitious home improvement. Inevitably, the project hits snags, the budget runs out, and the final shots are of the couple grimacing, pretending that they always wanted a half-built Gothic tower and a visit from the bailiffs.

And so to Downing Street, where Boris Johnson and his partner Carrie Symonds are involved in a Grand Designs spin-off. Symonds is overseeing a makeover of the flat above No 11. According to Tatler, she is keen to end the “John Lewis furniture nightmare” left by Theresa and Philip May.

Often portrayed as an intellectual lightweight simply for having long blonde hair, Johnson should not be underestimated. He and Symonds deserve respect for finding a builder, given that the entire UK seems to be doing lockdown renovations. The problem is that, under civil service rules, taxpayers will only contribute around £30,000, and the couple are thought to have been quoted multiples of that.

This is no house of commons. Their chosen designer, Lulu Lytle, sells fabrics from £100 per square metre. The style is described as Boho Sloane, who sounds like someone at Eton. It seems strange to evict Dominic Cummings, then design the place in his image.

By running out of money, Johnson has finally found a way to equal Winston Churchill. He has a plan — to create a charity, allowing wealthy friends to finance the Downing Street overhaul, including its official rooms. The timing of this philanthropic push is dubious, coming days after the government slashed aid to Yemen. Charity begins at home, but could it not take a detour to the world’s worst humanitarian disaster shortly after?

A Johnson ally has protested that the civil service is jeopardising a British landmark by doing “everything on the cheap”. Someone is being stingy: is it Johnson and Symonds, or the state?

We do have a problem spending money on our politicians. The Palace of Westminster is a lamentable fire risk. Downing Street’s offices are widely seen as a disgrace. When former chancellor Ken Clarke wandered round a decade ago, he was bemused to find senior staff working in an area he previously treated as a coat cupboard. The Blair administration thought of moving officials somewhere else, only to find that foreign leaders wanted their picture taken outside the famous black door. Meanwhile, the pandemic revealed that Downing Street has no dedicated doctor for the prime minister. We are also hung up about senior public appointees earning more than the prime minister. These are false economies.

On the other hand, isn’t a DIY budget of £30,000 . . . quite a lot? I would hesitate to give much more to someone who spent £320,000 on three unusable police water cannons, not to mention £37bn on the coronavirus service optimistically known as Test & Trace. And Downing Street’s recent occupants include David and Samantha Cameron, not known for a lack of style or luxury.

It’s hard to avoid concluding that Johnson struggles with generosity. Despite earning millions as a columnist and author, he has complained about having to pay for friends’ dinners at his official country residence, Chequers. If he wants a fulsome refurb, he could cover the excess, as the Camerons did. Instead he tries to explain personal ambition as patriotic duty. Connoisseurs of Brexit might spot a pattern.

Back at TV’s Grand Designs, the presenter Kevin McCloud capitalised on the show’s success by promoting an investment scheme for eco-homes. Life sadly imitated art. Costs over-ran and small investors have lost £2.3m. They enjoyed the show, but paid heavily for it. British taxpayers may soon experience something similar.

henry.mance@ft.com