Bowed down by high rent, council tax, electricity, telephone and gas bills, not to mention the complexity of splitting these with my flatmate, I was ready to live in a hole or a tree. Instead I became a lodger. My room turned out to be minuscule: the bed was a bunk bed with big blue wooden sides designed to prevent a toddler rolling out in the night. It was so short that I slept with my feet hanging over the end. But at £60 a week, I was not going to complain. In the short six weeks that I was there it saved me £540 on my previous rent — savings that have cushioned my imminent move back to a shared flat in the same area.

Crucially, it was more than just a room. I had moved into a big family house. The landlords, Tom and Anne Tickell, and their son, Nick, plus one — and sometimes two — of their daughters, were constantly circulating. If I reeled in at midnight, I could expect to find Anne, referred to by her husband as “the management”, pottering about the kitchen, painting or baking a loaf of bread. Upstairs, Tom — who was the total opposite of Rigsby, left — might be at his desk and Nick might be watching TV.

By far the trickiest and most vital part of being a lodger is grasping the balance between commerce and courtesy. You are paying for a service: a room. You might think that this entirely releases you from behaving as a guest. But you are paying far less than the going rate for a flatshare with the tacit understanding that you will be considerate towards the family around you. I forgot this balance once when I brought someone home one night. The next day both landlords were standing in wait, glowering. Their stern “This is a family house” made me blush for days.

The pains of readjusting to family life were well worth it. The toilet, though placed next to the master bedroom and shared between up to six people, was lined with fascinating books. I’d sit there far longer than necessary just to thumb through ancient Penguins and odd clinical psychology books. There were other deeply personal curiosities: stacks of surprising and absurd newspaper headlines, political figurines and a collection of musical fish.

The morbid thoughts that can attack the solitary young Londoner at night were mostly banished. A mother — even if she is not yours — rooting around for something she left in the garden, the sound of a married couple muttering to each other in the bedroom and the trickle of taps as people go to bed is reassuring and life-affirming.

These comforts are all very well for the lodger, but what’s in it for the landlord? “It’s a useful supplement to income, and we have lots of room,” the Tickells say. Although their attitude is easygoing, they are quite specific about their requirements: “We’ve never wanted someone with a long-term commitment to the house.” The Tickells have taken in a variety of lodgers over the years. Tom mentions a man who ate his breakfast very loudly across the table every morning. “There was a constant slurp noise,” he remembers. He recalls another who disappeared, leaving debts of £8,000.

Finally, it it best not to get too adjusted to family life. As Tom says: “We’d much rather have an absent lodger than one who is always there. It’s painful when someone’s looking for parents, not landlords.”

Times recommends

• Analysis: frustration for everyone - except investors
• Buy-to-let: professional investors cash in on the credit crunch
• Ten things you need to know about house prices