Earlier this year I found myself served notice on my flat after complaining to my landlord that he shouldn’t swear at us, his tenants. That is the standard I have grown to expect in the private rented sector, where ego runs roughshod over legal rights. With no way of challenging the notice, I needed to arrange some viewings – and fast.
I found a friend who was willing to share. With the average one-bed flat in the area where I live costing more than £1,000 a month in rent alone, that’s a good friend to have. Every letting agent I phoned asked a whole ream of invasive screening questions: what was the nature of our relationship? Did we have pets? Did we smoke? Did we work from home? How many cars did I have? What was my annual income? Did I have a permanent contract? How much did I have in savings? I had to provide all this before I could learn the address. It’s clear from the get-go that agents call the shots, and applicants suffer whatever indignities they must.
Most of the letting agents we found weren’t willing to give a viewing to two professional sharers. They claimed this was because of licensing regulations but that’s not true. My local authority doesn’t require private landlords to be licensed until there are four or more tenants sharing one property. But the agents proved unwilling to consider that they might be misapplying the regulations and denying people housing based on a misconception.
Letting agents tend to keep office hours and aren’t flexible with times. Understandable, but not helpful to those of us employed full-time, and especially stressful now that each renter is competing with 20 others just to view a property. The 5pm slot for viewings is always the first to go, closely followed by anything at lunchtime. After two weeks of phoning around and clicking links, we found a property with a cancellation and were able to view it the following day, both begging our bosses for a single hour out of the office so we could find somewhere to live.
We arrived at an uninspiring ground-floor two-bed in a bland tower block. It’s not in an area we like or know well, there’s parking for one car only (we are both required to drive for our jobs), and the grounds are wholly communal. My friend really hated the idea of all the neighbours, delivery people, visitors and strangers wandering close by our windows, but beggars can’t be choosers.
As the people viewing the flat before us left, we overheard the letting agent telling them how much interest they’ve had in this property and that they wouldn’t be able to offer a second viewing until the following week – not that they expected it to still be on the market. The implication was clear: if you don’t take it now, someone else will.
At our viewing, the agent could offer no information about council tax bands, utility costs, the building’s waste collection – you know, the kinds of things everyone asks. They did take pains to point out how many viewings they’d had in such a short time. Good for you, pal. The viewing took a total of four minutes. They couldn’t confirm if it was being let furnished or not, despite the advert clearly stating it would be.
We asked for a few minutes so we could talk privately. The agent said we were welcome to, but it would have to be elsewhere as the next appointment was already waiting. Through the window we could see other viewers loitering hopefully. They asked point blank if we were taking the property. Neither of us felt comfortable making such a large financial commitment off the cuff like that, but the pressure to say yes was palpable. Tenants are expendable. There will always be more people who need a home.
We felt we had no choice but to take the place and carry on searching for a better property once we had somewhere to stay. I keep an eye on property sites but anything we like is snapped up before the agent even gets back to us. We haven’t found a viewing for anywhere half decent in nearly three months. I’m worried we’ll be stuck here, unable to save enough towards a deposit, constantly penny-pinching to meet rising bills, in a flat neither of us wants to call home.
The writer is in his 30s and lives in the south of England
