Is it just ME?

Or are estate agent inquiries panic-inducing?

ALMOST every day I get estate agent leaflets posted through my letterbox saying they have people desperate to buy my flat. The implication is clear: time’s up, lady, this road has become pretty chi-chi and someone nicer wants it.

I’m not the only one — friends say their hallways are full of these passive aggressive flyers. Sometimes they lay on the charm: ‘We have a buyer who loves your location.’

Other times they make you feel guilty for being a selfish home-blocker.

‘We have a lovely family of four who are desperate to move into your area. The husband is a banker, the children have been accepted at the local school. And the finances are in place,’ the note declares brightly.

Subtext: ‘How can you defend hanging on when it’s just you and the cats?’

The funny thing is no one wanted my flat when I bought it 15 years ago. It was the only home I could afford, in a gritty part of South London. But today fancy restaurants and pop-up businesses have transformed

The implication is clear: time’s up, lady, someone more chi-chi wants your house

the area. We even have our own estate agent.

Gentrification means my house earns more than me — it is increasing in value year on year more than I earn.

In comparison, I am struggling to afford my life. And, yes, If I’m honest, I have let things slide a bit. I don’t have a hanging basket. When the postman knocks, I try to hide the pile of newspapers in the hall.

Peak embarrassment came when the couple downstairs let out their basement flat through an agency.

One day I came home to find a glossy flyer on my doormat advertising the property.

Unbeknown to me, they’d photographed the front of our house, so their sparkling paintwork and box hedges made a shaming comparison with my scruffy top floors.

I got the message: I’ve had the exterior painted. I’ve even had the roof fixed. But I do see that I’m living on borrowed time

The trouble is, dear estate agents, I’m not going anywhere. I’m too poor to move.