I feel like I’ve only just moved in, but now my landlord’s showing me the door. He’s selling two rental properties to fund an extension on his own home. That’s got to be one motherfucking enormous games room or granny-flat.
So I have until January, maybe longer if it takes a while to find a buyer. I can stay after January on a two month rolling basis, but I suppose I should start keeping my eye open for somewhere else.
My landlord’s invited me to make an offer, but how in god’s name can I do that? I earn £18k a year. Eighteen grand for the shit I put up with. Someone’s getting a good deal. I can’t afford to buy a house. I left uni nine years ago with a 2:1 and my salary’s the healthiest it’s ever been. Thanks to an heroic lack of ambition, I’ve never made enough to have to pay back my student loan, which has slowly gathered a negligible amount of interest over the past decade. Savings? Fuck off.
Anyway, if I don’t want to be back on the street, hustling and pimping my arse to the highest bidder, I’d better start scoping the estate agents.
Renting is such an unbelievable racket in the UK; most landlords are pretty shady operators, who give you the keys and then develop powers of invisibility until they want to chuck you out. Many properties are rat traps, despite £600 a month or more rents. And yet, what other choice is there? My parents changed the locks when I moved out. Bought a pack of hounds. And bricked up my room. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except I’d secretly let it out and there was a Dutch exchange student in there at the time. She normally came and went by the window, but one day the dogs got her on the way down and, well, they never did find her leg.
How many of you guys own your own places, and how in God’s name did you manage to afford it?