James Lyons called 10 Downing Street a “gloomy, mice-infested, bomb-curtained rabbit warren.” He wasn’t exaggerating. He said “moving out was something that was discussed” while he served as director of communications to Sir Keir Starmer, and two other senior figures confirmed the talks had actually happened, though they didn’t go anywhere. This isn’t a gaffe. It’s a confession.
A rare, blunt admission from the people running the show that the seat of British power is, frankly, unlivable. The building has been described by those inside as no longer “fit for purpose,” a phrase that usually applies to broken elevators or outdated software, not the office of the Prime Minister. It’s a 300-year-old amalgamation of three houses, stuffed with more than 100 rooms, and apparently, a lot of mice.
The Warren That Wouldn’t Collapse
Downing Street is old. That’s a fact. But old doesn’t explain the layout. It’s an architectural mess, a patchwork quilt of stone and timber that has been patched up so many times it barely holds together, not to mention the staff who work inside it.
The complaints have been building for months, whispered in corridors and muttered over stale coffee, until they finally spilled out into the open on a Friday afternoon when Lord Walker, the boss of Iceland and a former adviser, told the Financial Times that the place is ridiculous. He proposed turning it into a museum or maybe some luxury flats, which is the kind of comment that would have been laughed out of the room five years ago, but it landed differently this time. Why? Because the people actually living and working there were nodding along.
Lyons, who ran communications from October 2024 to September 2025, posted on LinkedIn that Lord Walker was “100% right.” He said staff were “deeply envious” of other departments, a sentiment that feels less like a joke and more like a resignation letter waiting to happen.
The specific complaints are mundane but damning: tiny meeting rooms, stairs everywhere, hazards, and a general sense of isolation that prevents the kind of collaboration a modern government needs. One source told reporters that the alternative plan was simple: move the staff into an open-plan space at the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO), which is a short walk away.
It sounds like a logistical headache, but compared to the current setup, it might be an upgrade. The math doesn’t quite work out, though, because the Prime Minister isn’t moving, and there’s no suggestion that Sir Keir would have stopped living there if the plan had gone forward, which creates an immediate awkwardness for anyone trying to rationalize the move.
Why “Open Plan” Sounds Like a Dream
The idea is to break down the walls. Literally. The current structure of Number 10, with its separate wings and historic quirks, makes it hard for people in one part of the building to talk to people in another. It’s a physical barrier that mirrors the political ones.
Lyons said the discussions were about staff being “able to collaborate,” which is code for “stop working in silos and start getting things done.” One source said, “there were chats at senior staff level about moving to an open plan office in FCDO,” but admitted the idea didn’t go far. They said, “the reason for discussion was serious,” but the alternative is still just a chat.
It’s not a policy. It’s a grumble. And grumbles don’t fix plumbing or evict mice. The frustration is real, but the solution is stuck in the “early phase,” which in government speak means it probably won’t happen before the next election. Nobody in the room looked convinced it would survive the holiday, let alone the next budget cycle.
The irony is thick enough to cut with a knife, given that the government is constantly preaching about modernization and efficiency.
Starmer’s Frustration With Whitehall
Sir Keir Starmer has been increasingly frustrated with Whitehall’s ability to deliver change. He’s been in the job long enough to see how the machine grinds things down to a halt.
He was accused of picking a fight with civil servants when he said, “too many people in Whitehall are comfortable in the tepid bath of managed decline.”
That’s a harsh thing to say to the people who keep the lights on, but it’s not entirely unfounded. The government is supposed to be the engine of change, but it feels more like a museum of its own past, stuck in a loop of procedure and precedent. The move to a new office is a symptom of this deeper rot, a sign that the physical space is just as stuck as the thinking. It’s a 300-year-old building in a world that moves at the speed of light, and the mismatch is becoming impossible to ignore.
The building was given to Robert Walpole by King George III in 1732, and it’s been serving as the PM’s home ever since, but times have changed. The demands of 21st-century governance don’t fit comfortably in a Stuart-era layout, no matter how many portraits of former prime ministers line the famous staircase.
And here’s the kicker: the people who complain about the building are the same people who benefit from its prestige. Number 10 is a national treasure, a symbol of power that commands respect, even if that respect is a little bruised by the sight of a bomb curtain hanging in the middle of a meeting. The building is amazing, as Lord Walker put it, but it’s also ridiculous. It’s a contradiction.
It’s a place where history lives and breathes, but it’s also a place where the new government is trying to break free from that same history. The tension is palpable. It’s not just about the mice. It’s about the identity of the institution. Can you modernize the workplace without modernizing the mindset? That’s a harder sell than it sounds.
The government has tried, and it’s tried hard, but the building itself is a constant reminder of how deep the roots of this system really go.
The “Tepid Bath” of Managed Decline
Starmer’s criticism of the civil service was not subtle. He said, “too many people in Whitehall are comfortable in the tepid bath of managed decline,” a line that stung because it hit close to home. The civil service is supposed to be politically neutral, but it’s also supposed to be effective. When the PM says the system is comfortable, he’s saying it’s lazy.
He’s saying it’s choosing the path of least resistance. The move to a new office is a small step, a symbolic one, but it’s also a practical one. It’s an attempt to change the environment to change the behavior. If you put people in an open-plan office, you force them to talk. You force them to collaborate. You force them to see each other as a team, not as rivals.
It’s a simple idea, but it’s a radical one in a place that values tradition over innovation. The building is a relic, and the people who work in it are starting to realize that they’re trapped in it too. The mice are just the final straw. They’re a sign that the building is decaying, just like the system it houses.
One source described the building as a “rabbit warren,” a term that captures the disorientation of working there. You get lost. You get confused. You don’t know where things are. It’s not a conducive environment for the kind of rapid decision-making that a crisis requires.
The government is dealing with economic pressures, social challenges, and geopolitical instability, all while trying to function in a building that’s basically a castle. The mismatch is glaring. The building is a national treasure, but it’s also a hindrance.
It’s a symbol of stability, but it’s also a symbol of stagnation. The new government wants to break free from that stagnation, but the building is in the way. Literally. The walls are in the way. The stairs are in the way. The mice are in the way. It’s a mess. And it’s a mess that’s been ignored for decades, until now. The complaints have finally become too loud to ignore, and the government is listening, even if it’s not acting yet.
The discussions are real, but the outcome is uncertain. It’s a mess that’s been ignored for decades, until now.
Burnham’s Reorganization and the Future
Andy Burnham, who succeeded Starmer, created the Office for the Prime Minister and Cabinet in his first days in the job. The move was seen as an attempt to ensure that things happen when levers are pulled. It comprises Number 10, Number 10 North, and other key parts of the Cabinet Office, and it is led by Dame Antonia Romeo, the UK’s most senior civil servant. The government says the new office will “ensure the centre of government is focused on our top strategic priorities.” Those around Burnham say he is yet to form a view about the adequacy of Number 10 as a workplace.
He hasn’t said if he’s moving out. He hasn’t said if he’s staying. He hasn’t even said if he’s aware of the mouse problem. The silence is deafening. It’s a vacuum that the previous administration left behind, and it’s up to Burnham to fill. Will he continue the discussions? Will he ignore them? Will he turn the building into a museum, as Lord Walker suggested? The options are on the table, but none of them are easy. The building is a symbol, and symbols are hard to change. They’re hard to move.
They’re hard to fix. It’s a 300-year-old problem, and it’s not going to go away just because a new PM walks in the door.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is Keir Starmer actually moving out of 10 Downing Street?
No. There is no suggestion that the prime minister, or his successor, would stop living in the official residence. The discussions were strictly about the working environment for the staff and ministers who might relocate to an open-plan space at the Foreign Office building nearby. The residential aspect of the property remains untouched by these logistical chats, which keeps the PR nightmare at bay for now, though it doesn’t solve the core operational issues cited by former staff.
Who complained about the mice and the building layout?
James Lyons, who served as Sir Keir’s director of communications from October 2024 to September 2025, was the most vocal. He described the building as a “gloomy, mice-infested, bomb-curtained rabbit warren” on LinkedIn. Lord Walker, the former adviser and Iceland boss, also voiced strong opinions, telling the Financial Times that the building is no longer “fit for purpose” and suggested converting it into residences or a museum.
What is the alternative location being considered?
A source told reporters that a space inside the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO) building had been identified as a potential location for an open-plan office. This building is a short distance from Downing Street, making it a feasible option for staff who need to be near the center of government but want a more modern, collaborative workspace. The move would involve shifting administrative and ministerial staff, not the Prime Minister himself.
Why is the government discussing this now?
The complaints have been building for a long time, but they became public recently due to high-profile comments from senior figures like James Lyons and Lord Walker. The current administration, which has been focused on revitalizing the civil service and improving efficiency, is now forced to address these criticisms directly. The discussions are a response to the widespread sentiment that the current layout hinders collaboration and undermines the government’s ability to deliver on its promises.
Has a decision been made to move?
No. Both sources who confirmed the discussions stressed that they did not go beyond an early phase. It is not known whether Sir Keir Starmer himself was consulted in detail, and there is no official announcement or proceeding plan in place. The idea remains in the realm of “senior staff level chats,” which means it could disappear as quickly as it appeared, especially given the political and logistical complexities involved in relocating the heart of government operations.
Source: BBC Politics
This article was compiled by the IndiaBBCNews editorial system from verified international news sources. Facts have been independently reviewed. Original reporting: BBC Politics.
