Bricks and mortar

An Englishman's home is his castle, they say. And their interest in all things real estate borders on perverse. They can't get enough of the bricks and mortar section on their newspapers or those shows on TV that tell you how much your neighbour's house is worth, what they had done to increase the value, how much they sold it for, where they moved next and what's the average house price in the new area.

When I met The Man he already had a house in England and two flats in Canada (Whistler to be precise. Apparently " I date well" as I was cheerfully informed by a bona fide Jewish American Princess I went to school with in Israel). He probably couldn't afford any of those, but it didn't stop him from splurging even more money on a 3-storey villa in Spain. 

I on the other hand rent. Not that I can afford the exorbitant rent either, but hey ho, that's what you get for insisting on living in the city centre. But lately I've noticed some changes.Yes, hair growing out f places I never used to sprout hair out of and yes,  funny feelings that I don't know how to handle... But more importantly hours spent over Grand Designs and evenings pored over The Telegraph's property section. I've actually had dreams of Welsh barn conversions and Art Deco-style newbuilds in Devon. I used to to attend my friends' housewarmings thinking how much I save by not having to take a taxi home. The thought of committing to a mortgage with more zeros than James Bond would fill me with fear. Now those feelings of smugness and terror have been replaced with... envy. The property envy of the worst kind.

Back when I still had a job I did actually have a meeting with the bank about a mortgage. I earned well, yet my paycheck wasn't enough to guarantee me a loan big enough to buy from the neighbourhood I want to live in. I was buying alone, with no savings, with no shares, with no private pension fund... I haven't felt that humiliated since leaving a gynecologist's appointment  where she decided to (accidentally?) venture into proctology.

I can't afford a home but even my iPod lives in Louis Vuitton?!