Blog: Help, I’m becoming obsessed with the rental market

I can feel my heart rate increase slightly as I click the button on the screen. It refreshes, and I can’t believe my eyes. What luck! In case you were wondering, reader, I am not currently surfing the dark web or anything nearly as interesting, but instead, am trying to figure out who currently supplies my rental flat with gas and electricity. And, after a few days of wondering but not having the balls to ask my new landlord (again), I finally have my answer.

Is this what it feels like to grow up? It’s almost pitiful the amount of excitement I’ve felt over minuscule, mundane matters like buying new bedding or finding out that we get £75 quid cashback if we buy Sky broadband, but maybe this is what Life After University is all about. My new bedding is delicious, BTW, but I don’t imagine I’d get the same level of interest from my friends back home as I would if I, say, told them about a recent holiday I’ve been on or a new car I’ve bought. Unfortunately, neither of these things have happened in my life, as I’m now too busy figuring out which council tax band our flat is in, and how we pay our water bill.

So, new flat? Sorted. The thrill of living with two of my best mates is still there, sure, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel when I realise we live round the corner from not only a Costa, but also a Poundland, a Lidl and a Tesco. I joke. Do I?

I remember a few years back when I was on holiday with my family, who all took a huge interest in the local estate agent’s recent lets. Bored, I carried on walking – because who cares how much rent has increased by in the last few years, and nope, why would I be bothered by the fact that a certain house has two reception rooms and is going for such a good price? What even is a ‘reception’ room?

I say ‘remember’ the day, because now, I’m depressingly just as interested. A flat we were going to rent was on the market for just under £2 million. Had we bought it in 1995 (when I would have been… hmm.. minus one years of age) we could have got it for £37,000. Isn’t that incredible? Nope? Just me? Instead, the flat we’ve decided to go for is valued at around £900,000, which is around £900,000 more than I have in my bank account right now but seems like ‘not much’ in comparison. I haven’t even ~officially~ moved to London yet and I’m already becoming a snob.

What else can we add to the list of “Mind Numbingly Boring Things Georgie Has Recently Become Interested In?” well, we have the joy of buying a new kettle and toaster (what colours to choose?), the 17 minute door to door commute from work (as opposed to the 40ish minutes we briefly considered) and let’s not forget the pure, unadulterated joy of decorating a new bedroom. This will be the fifth time in three years, but it never seizes to become anything less than enjoyable. Now, to swallow my fears, gently harass my new landlord to give me all the information I actually need about the property, oh, yes, and actually move into it.

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