The housing panic in York does not happen by accident. If you find yourself scrambling for a house this December, ready to lower your standards and double your budget, it is because that desperation is profitable.
In my first year, I signed the contract for my second-year accommodation in mid-December, settling for a house with the classic student-home features: a roof that was caving in, windows that wouldn’t fully close, and general disrepair. Our first taste of landlord greed came when we arrived and discovered the four double bedrooms advertised were actually four singles.
And then there were the rats. As far as we know, they never entered the property, though we definitely heard the noises – the scratching in the walls and rustling at night. Despite growing up in a big city, I had never seen so many rats as I did living in that house, and eventually I started dreaming about them too.
My current house is actually nice, but only by a miracle of the moon. In early November, after hours of scrolling through every student housing website, I found that everything had already gone. On my walk home from work, I looked up at the full moon and genuinely wished, “Please let me find a nice house for next year.” The next morning, I did. Sort of.
What I really found was a listing with a handful of photos, no video tour, no floor plan, and no option for a viewing. But, by the grace of the moon, it was within budget, near the University, and available, so I took a chance on it.
Now, I’m lucky enough to live somewhere decent, but every time I hear a creak I pause, listening closely for the noise I came to expect in my second year. The rats still visit me in my nightmares.
The truth is the rats are only a symptom of something far worse. The landlords and letting agencies are the real infestation, gnawing away at tenants and profiting from our panic. They are in every wall, every clause, and every rent increase.