Approximate reading time: 6 min

I am going to be honest.

(mmmm…when am I not)

I don’t really know what I should be writing about at the moment.

I hate these periods.

I’m secretly cursing myself for committing to writing one post a week.

I miss the days/weeks/months when I could just fall off the radar and pop back up again when I am flushed and glowing with positivity and perkiness.

EVERYBODY LOVES PERKY!!!

But alas, I made a commitment to myself.

(And this is the ONE commitment in my life I AM NOT going to fail at.)

The poems have been a great way to give me a little hiatus during difficult periods.

Unfortunately, the next poem that needs to go up is one I am slightly hesitant about…so my backup plan is …… ummmm a little backed up.

Frankly, I just think I am tired and in desperate need of my summer holiday.

3 weeks to go.

*******

We have 55 days in counting to find a new home.

Secretly, I have been looking forward to this period.

I have always loved looking at houses.

As stressful as moving can be, change, is always a little intoxicating….

New starts and fresh beginnings…….

except

house hunting, at the moment, is proving to be a little more stressful than I had anticipated.

In the good old days when I first moved to London

(25 years ago!!!)

…a group of us would get together,

find a house we liked

and move in.

This time around, knowing that I, at least, had my flatmates to move with was a HUGE bonus.

What I hadn’t factored in was that times have changed.

It appears, nowadays, if three or more people

(who aren’t related)

want to live together then the landlord has to apply for an HMO licence.

And most couldn’t be bothered.

Who could blame them?

Option A: Rent to a couple or family and pay nothing!

Option B: Rent to a group of single people and pay £1300 extra for the privilege.

(Renewable every 5 years)

Plus we all know what single people are like!!!

Single people drink, smoke, take copious amounts of drugs and throw massive house parties where the police need to be called at 4am because the landlord got punched by some drunk arsehole, thus resulting in the sad eviction of all 28 tenants!

Yes, you heard correctly, I lived in a house with 27 flatmates, and only 5 of them were men!

(Can you imagine the “menstrual synchrony” going on in THAT space?)

I would just like to say, in my defence, that it was my first house EVER in London….

and honestly, WHO KNEW the party was going to be soooooo big!!!!???

I suppose common logic would surmise that 28 flatmates X 2 friends each (at least) = 84 eager party-goers.  

(Unfortunately, 24-year-old gayle had no such logic and foresight)

PS And the only reason the landlord got punched was because he stormed into the house furious (And drunk) and knocked the DJ’s entire deck onto the floor, breaking it.

I am almost certain that wasn’t the wisest thing to do.

But dam up until that point, it was one hell of a party;-)

Sorry, I am digressing…..

What was my point?

………oh yes

I am not a naive 24-year-old anymore and neither are my flatmates.

The last house party I threw was my birthday dinner a month ago and everyone my 2 guests were both gone by 10 pm.

(Thank God)

I am now perfectly boring

drama-free

quiet

and happy!

And so are my flatmates.

And yet it seems almost impossible for us to even get any viewings.

In the three weeks we have been looking we have seen exactly ONE flat!

ONE!!!!!

Time and time again we are told:

‘No, sorry this property is for a couple or family only”

How is this not discriminatory against ALL us single humans?

Look I get that the HMO’s license has been created to protect tenants from those dodgy landlords who fill their homes with 28 tenants….but it feels like the system is a little flawed when three grown-up, professional adults are continually denied the right to rent simply because they are single.

I mean in this day and age it is illegal to deny anyone a rental based on ethnicity, religion, age or disabilities…..but somehow it is perfectly okay to deny single sharers the right to rent.

How do I feel about all of this?

I feel angry.

I feel frustrated.

Grown-up me knows it’s not personal…

but every rejection feels like a little bit of a kick in the teeth.

“I’m soooo sorry, we really would love to help you.

Please come back and see us when you are married and have a family….

I’m sure we will be able to find you a house then!”

Ok Rant over

Somewhere out there is a house for us.

We will find it!!!!

(PS Thank you Richard for reminding me that we are a family even if the housing market blatantly refuses to acknowledge us;-)