Matthew Hilton

Moving into my new house in North Yorkshire, the first I've owned in seven years, was an opportunity for a fresh start. Life isn't all about things, but for me things make the hard work worthwhile; they are solid, tangible. Without them I felt naked, as though everything that made me who I am had vanished. But perhaps I could get it all back and, in the process, rather than filling the coffers of big business as well as landfill, I could in turn be a lifeline for someone selling a treasured item to feed their kids, or keep a struggling small business afloat. Being part of the circular economy (even the likes of IKEA, Selfridges and Zara are launching pre-loved sites) is now nothing to be ashamed of, as I once believed in my former affluent life. It's aspirational, even.

Even when I've been told by my solicitor that I can pick up the keys to my new house from the estate agent in Darlington, County Durham, I'm convinced something will go wrong. They will tell me it has all been a mistake. The money never materialised, it was lost, scammed. I have three collies in my car. Their eyes are shining, and I feel so responsible for them. Despite it being April, the rain is torrential, freezing. We cannot be homeless. Not again. Finally, the estate agent runs out to my car and hands me the keys. 'Congratulations!' she says. That's what everyone says when I tell them I have clambered back on to the property ladder. It's a good thing! A rite of passage, like getting married or having a baby. Me? I can barely believe it. I never, ever thought I would own a house again.