You know you've seen them. Don't lie darling. They're the British equivalent of the "little boxes made of ticky tacky" from the song. Usually built of a timber frame with breeze blocks in between them, an ersatz layer of red bricks over the top to make it look like it's a real house rather than a built to a price shed, piggy little windows because proper heat insulation is expensive and we're makin' money here, a block paved drive, and usually inhabited by mobile phone salesmen called Deano and hairdressers called Chantal. Advanced forms of the Deanobox also have astroturf lawns, and two or more heavily financed German cars on the front. They are basically extruded house product.
Deanoboxes come in clusters. I can't think of a suitable collective noun for them. I think clutch or cluster is probably the best choice. The clusters are usually on former agricultural land with only one access road to the whole development, no widening of existing roads to account for higher traffic flow, and no commercial developments, supermarkets, GP surgeries, pharmacies, or similar things which means that Deano has to get into his (I say his, but it's really the bank's) Audi A3 with the sport appearance pack to drive five miles to do the big shop or pick up his wife's prescription. This means that there's usually a traffic aneurysm on ring roads throughout Britain as all the Deanos try to escape their boxes at the same time through the sole access road.
The interior of the Deanobox is themed around three main colours: white, rosy pink, and dove grey. Possibly a sort of bronze colour. It will be dominated by crushed velvet, glitter, and faux granite worktops. There will be small recessed lights everywhere, possibly using home automation software, because the house has small windows so it's always dark and gloomy. Floor coverings will be either deep but cheap shagpile carpets or pretend tiles because it's "posh" allegedly. The garden will contain a portable football goal because Deano likes to pretend he's Ronaldo or, later on, live vicariously through his son who WILL be the next top scorer for his team, and no flowerbeds because neither of them can be arsed to water it.
While we're at it, let's examine Deano himself. The man is of any height or ethnicity but usually from the Home Counties or Essex or Kent. He is late twenties, early thirties. He wears a very shiny suit and a tie with a really fat knot in it. He has hair partly shaved all up the back, but longish on top, sort of like a cross between the "Meet Me At McDonalds" haircut and the "Stronk Wahmen" haircut, if that makes sense. Advanced forms of Deano usually have obviously fake veneers on their teeth, you know, the type that some quack fits to you by sanding down your real teeth into hateful little pegs before gluing the ersatz ones in place. He drives a German car which has all the "appearance" packs to look faster and posher than it is but in reality it is a poverty spec one. This is the core demographic of smaller BMWs in the UK incidentally. He doesn't own it, he took out a very large loan to pay for it, the mug. He works as a salesman or a regional accounts director or some other job where his particular brand of bullshit can do nicely. He punctuates his speech with "aha" and "nice" and "what are you like" and other faux convivialities. He listens to Heart or Capital Radio on his drive to work because Radio 1 he thinks he's grown out of but still thinks Radio 2 is for sad dads and Radio 4 makes his brain hurt. His wife, Chantal, dresses like an Instagram influencer and has work done to her, usually in the form of giant fake nails, those stick-on fake lashes that nobody is fooled by, fillers that make her look like a guppy, and heavily ironed hair. Possibly bolt ons as well because she saw an ad for "Make Yourself Amazing" on a train once and rang them up and had some fresh jubblies applied to her.
Chantal also takes ownership of the interior decoration of the Deanobox. There will be a huge flatscreen television (on finance) and attached to that will be a variety of streaming services, a NOW TV stick or other Android based television viewing item, a Sky box, and a rake of games consoles. Deano likes having his fellow Deanos round after dinner where they play FIFA and all of which have subscriptions to the microtransactions. Deano likes watching The Chase (a quiz show) because Bradders, what is he like. Deano also watches football, and probably supports a Premiership team that he's never actually got tickets for or had any real connection to but it's because they're successful and heavily marketed. Chantal watches Love Island because she likes looking at steroidal airheads in their grundies, and this is why her sartorial preferences are what they are. She also thinks that if Deano were to stop drinking so much lager wiv verlads every evening and exercise more he could look like that and wants him to pick up this hint. Deano just likes looking at the pneumatic bimbos that make up the female half of the contestants and saves them to the W: drive for his later frantic amusement during toilet breaks at work.
Neither of them care about anything in the wider world. They are too used to tapping the bar in the cultural Skinner box and consooming the product.
Eventually he pups her, and Chantal will fill up her Instacrap with nauseating progress reports on the bun in her oven, using those words. They will name their children after one of their parents and by this time Deano will qualify for finance on a larger German car. The child will grow up to hate everything their parents believe in and Deano and Chantal will blame themselves. But that's okay, by the time they have grown up enough to fly the nest, the Deanobox, which was built down to a price like the little boxes of the song, will be unsaleable due to damp and structural movement because who thought endless serried ranks of dubiously built houses on a development with no real drainage was a good idea, and the water has to go somewhere. But there will be more Deanoboxes, as the developers who lobbied planning regulators and massaged local authorities in letting them build houses down to a price everywhere will continue to do this and we will continue to let them because we are a country of knocking on for 80 million with the infrastructure of 60 million. And one day, a farmer in the next town over will sell off a field and the boards will go up promising exciting new 2- and 3-bed starter homes coming to your area. And by that time Deano Jr will have met his own Chantal and ring up the developer to see if he can have one because there's nothing else on the fucking menu.
And you will know that you have seen them. Don't lie darling. They're the British equivalent of those "little boxes made of ticky tacky" from the song...