Forgive me if I have little sympathy for the plight of buy-to-let landlords like the one who's kicking me out

Apparently the government hadn't been generous enough and they weren't turning a big enough profit on us any more. And I'd already started planting in the garden

I’ll be living in Croydon next. No offence to Croydon, but you’re so close to Ikea, so far from God. (Peter Berkowitz)

Last month I had the hubris to start gardening in my rented house. I should have known I was jinxing myself. I mean, there’s an audacity in assuming that you are going to be in a property in London for more than the 60 to 70 days it takes to grow a tomato plant.

Predictably, my landlord has just told us that the jig is up and we have to move out in the next two months. It’s not because my housemates and I have gone into arrears, damaged the property or broken the contract. It’s because my landlord has decided to sell up as our rent will no longer be turning over enough profit. I’ve been living there since October- and my other housemates have only lived there for a month.

The tax relief previously given to landlords on their rental property mortgages has been cut. Added to this, as announced this week, is the possibility that landlords will be faced with new limits on the amount they can borrow on buy-to-let properties and a hike in stamp duties, meaning higher start-up costs.

Not that I’m feeling sorry for them. I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself. I’ve never been in a house long enough in London to put my own metaphorical roots down, never mind literal ones.

I mean what was I – a millennial, no less – thinking when I assumed I was old enough to start gardening? The hobby requires some sort of permanence, and going by my adult-life track record of eight houses to date, I don’t have much luck in sticking in one house for more than a maximum of two years at a time.

I’m tired. Tired of moving from one place to another; tired of vampiric estate agents in shiny suits; tired of their extortionate fees; tired of renting vans and lumping my stuff from place to place, losing things along the way. I don’t want to have to buy another can-opener.

Each time I have moved, I have shifted further out. My first year in London, I lived in Zone 1 - Embankment to be exact. And how the mighty hath fallen – second it was Zone 2, then Zone 3, and now I live next to a DLR station no one has heard of and that until 1965 wasn’t even a part of London.

I’ll be living in Croydon next. No offence to Croydon, but you’re so close to Ikea, so far from God.

Each time, rent becomes increasingly higher too. According to property firm CBRE, London has the highest rents of any city on Earth with an average rent of £2,083 per month. This reality means that each time landlords choose to arbitrarily hike up rents, tenants hold fast, as sometimes it is better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

That is, unless the devil you do know is kicking you out as your home – and your extortionate rent - isn’t turning enough of a profit for him anymore.

In fact, these new measures are likely to cause further rent cost escalation. The amount of rental properties in London will decrease, giving rise to the demand for existing properties, in turn putting landlords in a better position to hike up the rent even further than it currently stands.

I just want some security. I want a home. But if I can’t even have the middle class capacity to grow my own tomatoes, I definitely am not in any place to own my own house.

I can’t afford the deposit on a house in London, and my only other option was to buy a narrowboat. I even gave that a go, but even then the moving doesn’t stop. In fact, you have to move along every two weeks.

What are my other options? Move back up North? Bump my parents off so I can inherit some money? Find someone to shack up with who already owns their house?

That’s it - I’m starting a dating app which matches young millennials with older partners who own property. Like a mix between Tinder and Sugardaddy.com, with added postcode algorithms.