As anyone trying to source accommodation in Dublin knows, it is an act of self-flagellation to allow false hope to build before you check for rental properties in the capital.
nfortunately, I have become addicted to the pain. I am currently searching for accommodation in Dublin ahead of our return to the office. My search coincides with that of thousands of students as the new academic year gets under way.
A quick scan of Daft.ie will flash up double bedrooms to rent in city-centre apartments for €1,500p/m, or a lovely attic bedroom in a suburb for the steal of €900p/m, bills excluded, of course. At least Dick Turpin wore a mask.
Let’s not even start on the gorgeous “studio apartments” available for between €800 and €1,000p/m. Speaking of self-flagellation, you literally could not swing a cat (-o’-nine-tails) in them.
Something about cooking my dinner three feet from my bed never really appealed to me.
I have been searching online for weeks for suitable accommodation and I’m exasperated. As of today, there are single student accommodation rooms available for €259 per week. This is the state of play.
When recently discussing my predicament with a friend, we came to the conclusion I will likely have to pay roughly €1,000 for a double bedroom – that is close to what he and his fiancé are paying for a mortgage on a four-bedroom house in Limerick.
Anyone working from home outside the Pale is also at a distinct disadvantage as suitable properties are swooped on by desperate souls with a piranha-like hunger. Leaving nothing but the brilliant white bones of the carcass of the Dublin rental market for those not able to get there in time.
There has been talk of growing discontent among workers with the idea of returning to work in the office and it is easy to understand why, especially for those who have been living outside Dublin during the pandemic.
The cost of living in the capital has reached a point where people are willing to walk away from it all and change course. The rules of the game are so warped that there is no joy to be had in playing it any more. I have considered it myself. As much as I like self-flagellation, I am not that much of a glutton for punishment.
How did things go so wrong? We have come to accept the unacceptable.
Ireland’s – and particularly Dublin’s – rental crisis has unfolded before the Government’s eyes for decades without any impactful action.
It is reminiscent of Eddie Murphy’s skit about Aunt Bunny in his famed stand-up show Delirious. Aunt Bunny invariably falls down the stairs every year at the family’s July 4 cookout, but at a pace so glacial, it allows her to commentate on her own downfall.
Nobody ever attempts to help Aunt Bunny and nobody is coming to help prospective renters, as the country watches the disaster slowly unfold like straight-jacketed spectators.
Twitter is awash with tales of landlords making ridiculous demands of prospective tenants, and that is if you are lucky enough to get a viewing. Landlords have the whip hand and they know it.
It must be said, not all landlords are predatory, but many are, and the capital seems to have a high concentration of them.
I am very lucky that a good friend of mine has offered to take me into his apartment and use it as a basecamp ahead of the return to the office. But this is just the beginning of an uphill climb to find my own place, which is not robbery but is also within a nuclear blast zone of my office in central Dublin.
I’m lucky that I have solved the problem of having a roof over my head in the short term but the struggle goes on.