Like most young people my best chance of getting on the property ladder is to partner up

During a catch-up last week, my friend Jordan had good news to share. He’s just been approved for a mortgage for a new flat with his long-term partner. “There’s no way I could have done it alone,” he admits, and god knows many people can relate. It seems like shacking up has become the fast-track to getting on the property ladder for those like myself who don’t have the privilege of inheritances, handouts or a STEM career. As nice as going halves with the person you love can be however, it doesn’t quite pack the same triumphant punch as knowing that you’ve crossed the home ownership milestone independently.  

I remember excitedly planning for the future with a boyfriend who had managed to buy a flat (with the help of parents and a tech job salary). We broke up just before he moved into it, leaving me with the realisation that all that excitement about his flat was a way of projecting my desires for something I desperately wanted for myself.  

A part of me thinks I’ve subconsciously resigned myself to being an eternal renter. Until recently, I had never put much effort into rented homes. I kept my decor modest, not seeing the point of overdoing it. But in my current flat, I’ve gone all-out with rugs, Scandi furniture and cushions. A sign of matured tastes perhaps, but maybe also a splash of desperation to reclaim some individualism in a restrictive living situation. In other words, maybe this bum-shaped vase will distract from the dull beige walls I’m not allowed to paint over?

For women especially, that sense of independence that so many of our foremothers weren’t granted is best realised through owning property. Having to accept that partnering up might be our best option means factoring long-term commitments into our lives when we’re already bombarded by other silly gender-biased deadlines such as the biological clock. Of course I know there are various ways in. Shared ownership for one, or buddying up with siblings. Unfortunately I can barely bring myself to share a bag of crisps with my brothers, let alone property. I could move further out, but my family and friends are here and few cities in England are quite as diverse as London. Stay with parents and save? Anyone who quarantined with family in lockdown knows that the novelty of home-cooked meals wears off quickly. For now I may just have to squirrel away what I can into a Lifetime ISA and pray for a miracle that isn’t man-shaped. Here’s hoping a distant relative I never knew existed will leave me a million-pound inheritance. That should just about cover the deposit for a studio flat in London, right?  

It looks like we’ll be spared another year of X Factor, according to Dermot O’Leary who has hinted that the show could return in 2022. I wonder if it might be time to throw in the towel altogether? While X Factor has birthed some genuine stars — One Direction, Little Mix and Jedward to name a few — it has overstayed its welcome. If Simon Cowell insists on bullying us with the show for years to come, I hope some real thought is put into a fresher format. Better judges for one; they lost me the second they expected us to believe that Tulisa Contostavlos was on par with Gary Barlow and Kelly Rowland. They also need to get rid of the flashy Britain’s Got Talent audition set-up and return to intimate rooms. Nobody needs camera pans to a weeping nan in the audience as an unassuming teenager belts out Someone Like You by Adele.