In September 1985, Brixton, in south London, experienced its second riot in four years. In the space of two days, a photo-journalist died, civilians and police officers were hurt, cars were burnt out, shops were looted and many buildings were damaged.

I followed the news with mounting dismay: I had just made an offer on my first flat – in Brixton.

Eighties Brixton was not the Brixton of today, with its pop-up restaurants and its farmer’s market. Though it was certainly cool (the legendary Fridge nightclub opened on Brixton Hill in 1984), it was also scruffy and, to be honest, a bit scary, particularly if you’re used, as I was, to living in a garden square in Pimlico where nothing ever happened.

But Brixton ticked two essential boxes: it was well served by public transport – I could be at my office in Old Bond Street in half an hour – and it was affordable: my two-bedroom first-floor flat was much cheaper than anything for sale in neighbouring Clapham.

Still – a full-blown riot. Almost everyone advised me to pull out of the sale. Even my friend who lived on Acre Lane, aka Brixton’s front line, was doubtful. Then one of my flat mates announced that if I didn’t buy the flat, he would. Telling my parents their daughter was moving to riot-torn Brixton wasn’t an easy conversation, though the building society that had agreed my mortgage didn't turn a hair.

Some of my friends were nervous about visiting. Others wouldn’t come at all. But I loved that flat. It needed a lot of work so with the help of a DIY manual and the girl upstairs who was building a fitted wardrobe from scratch, I learned to tile, wall-paper, plumb in a washing machine, put up shelves... All the essential life skills.

By the time I moved on in the late Eighties, Brixton had become so desirable that my flat sold within two days and for twice what I’d bought it for. The local property market was now so hot that not even a riot would have put buyers off.

MO’S, London

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