Six years ago, at the tender age of 29, I became the recipient of my granddad's home after he died.

It was very surprising, if I'm being honest, but the story goes that shortly before he died,

he had his last will and testament amended so that

my parents could get the majority of his money, while I received full ownership of his old

Georgian townhouse. I think the idea was that since my parents already owned their own home,

passing his house along me was a way of getting me onto the property ladder nice and early.

I appreciated the sentiment back then, and I appreciate it now.

I still live in that house, and it's where I'm actually typing this right now.

But when I first inherited it, it left me with something of a problem.

I wasn't doing all that great financially at the time,

and when you're no longer renting, there's no landlord to summon whenever anything goes

wrong in your home. I learned very quickly when I was living somewhere above my pay grade,

but in addition to taking on extra hours at work and fighting for a promotion, I needed some

fast cash. And that, boys and girls,

is how I became a very young and very hesitant landlord. It just so happened that the basement

of my granddad's old house had some plumbing fixtures and that with a little bit of work,

it could be turned into a single-bedroom flat.

It would be a small one, just a kind of crash pad, really, but I'd easily be able to

advertise it for about 250 to 300 pounds a month, which would cover all my bills and council

tax with a wee-bit leftover to spare. Doing the place-up was a bit of an investment, and I put with a wee bit leftover despair.

Doing the place up was a bit of an investment and I put quite a bit of money of my

granddad's inheritance into turning it into not just a livable space, but a pretty cozy

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