伦敦是地主的天堂

Window shopping: Emily Hill has been frustrated in her search for rented accommodation in the capital

All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air...

Emily Hill， London Evening Standard
30.11.10

Available. Single female looking to rent room in friendly houseshare. Likes — Hitchcock films and Russian novels. Dislikes — having to spend every spare hour of every day scouring through house-share websites in mounting desperation.

Along with most people in their twenties, unless I strike it lucky on Euromillions I'm not going to be able to buy a place to live in London. I wouldn't even secure a mortgage on a garage space. Or a mooring spot on a canal. Without a bumper inheritance or the bank of Mummy and Daddy, my income is not going to set anything in motion at a mortgage broker — bar an eyebrow raised in derision. Instead, there will be years ahead of paying off someone else's mortgage through renting.

Since relocating to London four years ago, I've moved eight times. Four times in the first year alone, as I struggled to find a job. My longest stay was a 20- month stint in Stepney Green, in a decaying house that had peeling Alpine scene wallpaper and a carpet patterned like a Rubik cube. The bathroom was rotting and the heating broke down in winter, meaning a half-mile walk to the local swimming baths each morning to get a shower before work, but my flatmates were great and it was the best place I've lived in London. Since then I've been to Clapton, Fin*****ury Park, and Stamford Hill, where I currently lodge with my best mate and her parents. Over the summer they were in America so I was useful as a house-sitter but now I'm feeling like the mad woman who just won't move out of the attic, and am looking for somewhere, anywhere, that seems nice and rents for under £600 a month.

It used to be pretty easy to find a room for that price but as the country languishes in the economic doldrums it's now fraught. Many are finding it impossible to get on to the property ladder so they stay on well into their thirties in the shared houses which they might ordinarily have moved on from. As I was on my way back home from my seventh unsuccessful viewing, waiting for a bus in freezing Whitechapel, my mother came up with the encouraging tale of her work colleagues. One had had to move out of London altogether because, even with two incomes, she and her hu*****and couldn't afford rental prices. Another's sister still has to move flatshares every six months after more than a decade living in the capital.

Nick, the 39-year-old photographer who makes me put my hands on my hips and frown for the photos, has also been through the flatshare mire. Just back from India, he has let his own Shoreditch flat out to tenants and doesn't want to kick them out.

“There's a real shortage of places at the minute,” he tells me. “One place I phoned up in Bethnal Green had been advertised for an hour — 15 people had already called up wanting it. Then there was a flat on Redchurch Street for £700 a month. I liked it — but at the bottom of the email, the woman I would have been sharing with asked me if I'd be able to cook for her twice a week. Then there's the whole speed flatmate thing — which is like speed dating. I dipped my toe in it — I was just defeated by the whole process.”

I started my search on Gumtree. Unfortunately, the website where I once managed to find a place within 24 hours now appears to be overrun with scam artists. A one-bedroom flat just around the corner from Gloucester Road Tube station, for example, was going for £98 a week, with hot water and a parking space included, and a luxury flat was advertised for £115 a week in Holland Park. Contacting the advertisers led to convoluted tales involving the landlord being in America, Belgium or on “crusade” in West Africa. Would it be possible to wire the deposit to a wife in Ireland, who will then arrange delivery of the keys?

After resisting the urge, tempting as it was, to wire hard-earned cash to a hard-faced sc ammer, I switched tack and on the advice of a friend started looking at other sites: easyroommate.com, spareroom.co.uk and moveflat.com. In the past month I've seen seven places and sent emails and left voicemail messages trying to view dozens more.

Being interviewed for a flat is rather like being considered for a job — only it's your personality that's up for scrutiny rather than your employment history. With two dozen people competing with you for one room, how on earth do you make yourself seem nicer or cooler or just generally more endearing than the rest? Should you take cookies along as a bribe? Or wine? Should you be super-keen and enthusiastic — or will they just think you're desperate and demented?

The weirdest thing about viewings is running into your rivals for the room. Viewing a box room in Kensington, there is a girl before me running late. While I am saying hello, she is saying goodbye and fervently telling her interrogators that she wants the room. We glance at one another but try not to make eye contact, like girls who've discovered that they're both trying to date the same guy.

Most places look as if they could turn into great living arrangements and you can see why there are so many people vying to take them. I've only seen one place that I really didn't want to live in — a filthy house in Brixton, about a mile away from the Tube, where I was greeted by a man in his late thirties with a ponytail, in torn tie-dye pyjama bottoms, who had overgrown, yellow toenails.

My brother, who was helping me look that day, mimicked slitting his throat by the time we'd got up the first flight of stairs, having caught Mr Tie-Dye openly leering at the girl just departing. As Loyd Grossman used to say, “Who would live in a house like this?” Someone with a rape alarm.

It's not like I'm looking for an en-suite with a gold towel rail and a view of Kensington Palace. I don't care where I live in London, as long as there is a Zone 2 Tube station within a 15-minute walk, I'm easy — north, south, east or west. I am an equal opportunity property seeker — I don't care about the gender mix. The room doesn't have to be that big (although that would be nice) and it doesn't have to be particularly spruce (as long as it isn't infested with insects). Right now, though, I'm close to giving up. There's only so much rejection a girl can take.