Like most people I know, de-moulding is a biweekly ritual.

My furniture stands two inches away from the walls and I recently had to chuck my beloved pair of cowboy boots because they got infected.

But I consider myself fortunate – I won the coin toss when we moved in, meaning my room is the biggest and the airiest.

My housemate’s room is half the size and getting absolutely decimated by creeping black mould.

Last winter, our broken boiler sent her to A&E with chest issues. Our pleas to the estate agents for roof repairs have been met with indifference, leaving us to contend with leaking ceilings and weakened walls.

All this to say:

I’ve been thinking a lot about how the UK’s housing stock is literally rotting away.

Between scammy estate agents scraping as much cash as they can off the top, shitty absentee landlords, and broke, disillusioned renters, 

we’re witnessing the deterioration of a vital resource.

And it’s making us sick and depressed

Help, I feel depressed because my house is rotting. Can tech fix this?

By Zoe Rasbash