Everything I've learned from a decade of renting in London

Everyone has horror stories, but in honour of spooky season and my newfound freedom, allow me to share my lowlights from a decade in the tenancy trenches.

- BY INDIA BLOCK

Ironically, for large chunks of this time I was a property journalist, reporting by day on the system that kept me up at night with worry. While welcome, the Renters' Rights Bill came too late for me and countless other tenants.

Like unhappy families, every landlord-based situation is terrible in its own ways. There was the owner of an ex-council flat in south London who liked to remind us this property was his sole pension every time we alerted him to problems. For a retirement fund, he didn't seem to care all that much that the place was falling apart around our ears. When we moved in, we discovered the washing machine had been erroneously plumbed into the sink, gathering foetid water that exploded into the kitchen.

Next, pigeons infested our balcony in aborted attempts to nest. Did you know that pigeons are continuous, rather than seasonal, breeders? To thwart the avian plague, I bought netting with my own money and asked the landlord if it could be fixed to the walls. The handyman was dispatched, and tacked it to the top and bottom of the railings. Pigeons are smart enough to sneak around the sides but dumb enough to get stuck there. Every morning I would have to shoo them out of the accidental aviary that had been created with a mop handle.

An endless frat house party