Flatshares in our sixties? London's housing crisis means that's no joke at all

thirty-something housemates and I still waddling around our Balham house-share in our dressing gowns three decades from now because we can't afford to get on the property ladder or turn on the heating.

- Katie Strick

IT would make for a great TV sitcom, if it wasn't so bleak: my three "Pass us the false teeth Emily, I need to take a pic for my SpareRoom profile!"

Much as I like to hope I'll still have my original gnashers by the time I reach retirement, renting together in our sixties is something my flatmates and I joke about regularly. It comes up whenever one of us has been ghosted by a potential romantic partner for the fifth time in a month, or has to awkwardly suggest we cancel this month's cleaner because we've reached the bottom of our overdraft. It's tough out there, in London's renting wild west. We have to laugh or we'll, well, go even more grey than we'll apparently be by the time we move out.