April saw me fail to re-enrol for a further term at the Alliance Francaise. Part of me is disappointed in myself. I don’t like to give up on things. However, it had been a year, and I think I got what I wanted out of it for the time being. I feel I was able to progress significantly beyond Duolingo and out into the vrai vie francais of the wide world.

The next challenge I encountered was the Bishopbriggs Triathlon on 26 April. It was a sprint event  – 750m swim, 21km bike and 5km run.

Prior to the event, I knew I was capable of all three disciplines individually, but I’d never put them together before. For the swimming heat, I was quite conservative with my predicted time, so was first out the pool. The bike was probably the toughest part, but it was fun to race competitively, albeit a bit soul-destroying to have to do the same big hill six times for the 3-point-something kilometre lap. Coming out of the bike and into the run, I was significantly fatigued and did a slow first kilometre, then a fast one to make up for it before evening out to finish in a time of 1 hour and 31 minutes, 46^th overall and 25^th out of 48 for my age group.

In May, I almost bought a flat.

The wheels of property ownership had begun to turn in December 2025 when I found myself living solo after my flatmate moved out to move in with his girlfriend. This coincided (albeit three months prior) with the significant pay increase from trainee to fully qualified solicitor. The combination of affordability and an automatic doubling of my rent heightened the question somewhat.

I was now paying a third of my income on rent, which is what I gather is financially recommended, but one feels one is getting a raw deal when you’d basically been able to live for £400 a month up until that point.

However, the idea that getting a mortgage is cheaper than renting, which I had heard from a couple of sources, seems not to be true. There are also a lot more costs involved with owning a place like maintaining it or paying factor fees for someone to fail to maintain it adequately. You also can’t get out of it very easily as mortgage deals tend to lock you in for a couple of years, and you need to wait to build “equity”, i.e. be able to pay off the mortgage and fees and still have some cash left over if you’re selling it, so it needs to meaningfully go up in value. There is a degree to which you’re trapped if you don’t have sufficient equity that simply is not the case with renting.

Then again, people say that rent is giving away money that is doing nothing for you. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. It’s kind of the same with having cash in the bank, which depreciates with inflation.

Whereas buying a place means you have a “real right in land”. It is qualitatively different to liquid assets; more solid, less flexible.

Another factor apart from having the physical means to buy was that it seemed everyone else around me was buying, including my siblings and colleagues.

But just because something is the done thing doesn’t mean that it’s right for you. Or even for the majority of people.  “The done thing” is a logical shortcut; it short-circuits thinking.

As well as pull factors, there were plenty of push ones. I started feeling very negative about my current flat. I was getting a bit depressed about the uncleanliness of my neighbours, the litter and detritus in the close, the horrible muddy bins area round the back, the fly tipping on the street, the alarms going off at night, the disturbing smells in the stairwell. It all adds up to make your environment meter go into the red.

Yet, on some days, I love living here. The street itself is gorgeous in the sun. The sandstone gleams.

The lower end of the street practically has a tree corridor, organically grown up by green-fingered residents who are doing their best to fight against all the things I have already mentioned above.

At the top of the street, I am always cheered by the view of the three towers that forever lead you on. You have the kirk (St Jude’s of the Free Presbyterian Kirk), Old Trinity College and the Park Church Tower (luxury flats I believe now).

My flat is small, but it does get a lot of light. It gets more light now I live alone as I can keep all the doors open, which also makes it feel bigger.

Also, because I live alone now, I can keep it how I like it. This does actually have its pros and cons, however, because how the flat is, is now a reflection on me, not anybody else. If it’s grimy or dusty, that’s my dust, my grime.

I’ve come to realise that I’ve not really put much of my own stamp on the place despite having lived here for almost four years. The artwork and the me-ness are all crammed into the poky second bedroom I have not bothered to move out of. The rest of the flat is mostly pretty blank…and when I look at all the “negative space”, all I can think of is it’s in need of a good paint.

I began to consider my flat a negative space, but I ought not to consider it so. I should see it as a neutral zone. One of potential, not absence. I need to work with what I have and make it work for me.

The story is, at the beginning of the year, I went searching for flats.

What I was looking for was really what I have, but maybe slightly nicer, slightly bigger and perhaps cheaper. I found that the latter was not really achievable with my budget, as I would be soul-crushingly outbid in any competitive scenario.

So, in a bit of desperation, I put an offer in on a place in Dennistoun I viewed alone one February evening after work. There had been no bids, and yet my bid, under the home report, was rejected. The seller wanted £200k. It was listed for offers over £185k.

In truth, I was bidding against myself, and that should have been a red flag, the fact that no one was putting in any offers. Looking at the Land Register, I saw that it had been bought the previous year for some £40k less than the current asking price. Having bid on a couple of other places unsuccessfully, I decided to put in a last desperation bid, and shockingly, this was accepted.

Several things were attractive about the flat. I think it was marketed well with a view of a church on the other side of the street and the sandstone gleam of the façade. The ceilings were high and beautifully corniced.

Some downsides were apparent too. It had not been especially tastefully decorated, with grey carpets throughout and the bathrooms (yes, plural) both had no windows.

The whirr of the fan when the estate agent switched on the bathroom light ought to have set my mind whirring too. At that point, I should have really considered – no windows in the bathroom, inadequate extraction, moisture – mould! damp!

The home report, too, said something, something elevated moisture readings. External wall damage. Rear window cracked. Maybe I was thinking, external – not my problem? I seem to have pressed on.

My conveyancer suggested I get a damp survey. I almost didn’t want to for fear of what it would reveal…Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck/Till thou applaud the Title Deed(??)

In the end, I did get one, though not by the historical buildings expert he nudged me towards, who was very passionate about such things as the concept of rising damp being a grand conspiracy orchestrated by Big Damp Proofing. Instead, I got a cheapo one from a company who probably fell into that category. They did not go under the floor, which apparently you can do(?) Their investigations were more thorough, however, and identified the extent of the issue more starkly.

The flat was damp at the non-street-facing side. Water was getting in from outside through the gaps in the mortar.

The report did indeed call for “damp proofing” of the internal walls, recommended stronger extractor fans and said that repointing work was required alongside fixing the window. They were quoting £2,500 for the internal walls alone. If it was just that, then maybe… The conveyancer threw some doubt on that, and was sceptical of their proposed solution because if the structural issues were resolved, then the walls would most likely dry out naturally. There’s the rub. Structural issues. External fabric. i.e., common property, factor and consent of all the proprietors. Putting scaffolding up for months, and a job that could easily become pretty involved and expensive.

After a phone call, I asked him to ask them to get quotes from the factor. The seller simply refused and said that they’d remarket the property unless I committed that week. In effect, they made the decision for me. And so, I withdrew.

That was the story of how I almost bought a flat. I thought I would tell it here, partly as a way to organise my thoughts and partly as a reference and warning to anyone who thinks buying a flat in Glasgow is a straightforward thing. I don’t want to put people off, but I have definitely learnt a few things from this experience. The main thing is not to rush into any massive financial commitment just because it seems like the appropriate thing to be doing at my age and stage in my career.

I will be taking a breath before looking at flats again, and in the meantime, I will try a bit more to make my immediate living environment more pleasant within the confines of my tenancy agreement. Ultimately, property ownership seems to be as much a psychological milestone in the UK as a financial one. There is subconscious pressure to “get on the ladder” for people who either can’t afford it or whom it doesn’t actually suit if they were to sit down and think about it for a bit.

Another motivation, I suppose, is to escape landlordism. To eject from the system of landlord and tenant, which is inherently exploitative. The solution to that is, I suppose, to create more social housing and remove the stigma from that. From a different perspective, though, a landlord (whether social or private) is providing something valuable, if not a service as such. They provide the permission to exist, undisturbed in one’s own space, for a regular monthly payment. You can look at that and say, they’re providing nothing, but on the other hand, I wouldn’t and don’t underestimate the value of negative freedom. As long as you pay the rent, that freedom is yours.

I don’t want to create too much of an ‘apology for the landlord’, but I guess what I’m saying is that my current situation does suit me. There is no need for me, personally, to escape from it. I am happy for now, and when the time comes for me to move on, I will do so, calmly and carefully, and in the full knowledge of what I am stepping into, insofar as that is ever possible.