Has anyone noticed how looking for flatshare is akin to going to a job interview? I can't decide which one's worse. I think I'd rather be quizzed about my credentials than judged by a line of three people about whether I would make a good housemate or not. But I've been looking to move out of East London to NW1 for three months now, seen seven different places, and had no luck. I'm stuck. It all starts very fine and well ...

1. I find a place that sounds all right and is affordable on moveflat.com, contact the person, and arrange a viewing. Print out my google map, highlight the route from the tube station to the house (because I'm overly organised like that), and run through the questions I've got in mind for the people living there.

2. I get there a tad early or on time ... then I have about 10 or 15 minutes to make a first impression.

3. I'm shown the room and the facilities - I make a mental note in my mind of what I love and what I don't think I could live with.

Then it goes a bit downhill from there ...

4. The awkward come-sit-in-the-lounge-and-have-a-chat part occurs ... "Where do you work?" "What do you do?" "What do you like to do in your spare time?" "Would you say you are a social person?" This part can go either one of two ways - you either obviously do NOT click with these people and you make your polite goodbyes and leave with the familiar "We'll call you" (not the other way around, just like a job interview) OR you click really well, laugh, joke, and get along but when you don't hear from them in a few days or you email and get a "Sorry, but we went with someone else in the end," you think "Where did I go wrong?" This is especially sad in the case of finding The Perfect Flat.

5. You also get the weirdos, like the Aussie couple who showed me their gorgeous flat and then abruptly announced that they were moving back to Australian next week and could you take on the lease and find two new people to fill the house. OR the militant and very hardcore Swede, who insisted on a carefully written out cleaning rota for each person in the house and counted who owed what to whom in terms of FABRIC SOFTENER down to the very last pence. Or the "open house" type of viewing where three to four people arrive at the same time and have to sit in a neat little row in the lounge whereby we then go around making the same awkward small talk - but with competition next to you. "This flat is MINE, b*tch!" they think whilst smiling sweetly at you.

6. Anyways with the rejections come awkward things that are supposed to make you feel better, like "Oh we ended up going with a friend of a friend's ...but you were REALLY high on our list!" Oh wow, I was shortlisted for a flat! I've achieved something! OR "We went with someone else, but ... the girls were really positive about you!" Wow, strangers liked me - of course, not enough to live with me, but they did.

It's now the beginning of October. I wanted to move out of my sh*tty Shadwell abode by September. Then again, things could be much worse ... but though my current living situation at the moment is bearable (the inside of my flat is really lovely and there's the best curry house on the corner), I am certain that moving to the leafy neighborhood of Maida Vale, Marylebone or Pimlico will result in better moods in the morning and not clutching at my rape alarm at night when I'm coming home from work.