Talking Property: Everyone told Gary Quinn - married with two children and three jobs - that he had to buy a house. But now that he's decided not to, he's got his old life back

Last month I accepted that I might never buy a house in Dublin. In fact, I may have to rent for all my working life. No, I'm not slashing my wrists. Surprisingly, I've never felt better.

It was a hard pill to swallow. After all, I was in my thirties with two children and three jobs. I worked for The Irish Times and in a university. I spent my weekends flying off to work in Russia, India, Croatia, Armenia and Ukraine. I speak three languages. My wife wears a size eight dress. It didn't add up. I had to buy a house. My God, I deserved it. Didn't I?

It turned out I was over-compensating. Just a bit. While my story made for a good kick-start to a dull dinner party I quickly learned that languages and immigration stamps don't count for much in the bank. And, despite our accomplishments, people pitied us as we didn't own a home. And before you ask, so many short-term contracts made me a poor starter for the 100 per cent mortgage. Miserably so.

And I was miserable. Almost all the time. I spent most of my waking hours trying to raise the ever-increasing mortgage deposit and the closest I got to indulging in romantic conversation was calculating how long it would be after we bought a house that we could buy a bed of our own - a bed that no one else had ever slept in. Not to mention having had two children in.

Our social lives had been on hold for years. Every penny was put towards the deposit. Sometime, in the future, we would look back and laugh at those funny days, we told each other. Well, there had been about seven years of those funny old days and so far we hadn't laughed very much. I hadn't found myself laughing at not bothering with a honeymoon - sure wouldn't it save us a fortune?

Nor had I laughed at the memory of my sister in tears when I bluntly told her that I didn't bring my family to her daughter's christening in Wales because it was too expensive - did she not understand I was saving? But most of all I hadn't laughed at the memory of my daughter coming home from school one day and asking why we didn't have stairs. Stairs? Why didn't she want a pony? I could have answered that.

I earned enough money but still lived in a tiny rented apartment with the grim prospect of saving for years just to make that tiny apartment my own. It was a nightmare. And that was without dwelling on the pity and advice of my home-owning friends and family. Well meaning as it was, the phrase "you really should buy something" doesn't cut it after the hundredth time. I didn't need persuading - I needed a solution.

We did our sums again. We knew that we needed at least €25,400 cash as a deposit against the stamp duty cut-off price of €317,500. There was one house on the market at that price. It had on-street parking, no garden, electric heating, and needed a new roof and windows. But it did have stairs - it was perfect.

Neither of us had wealthy parents but we could take another loan from the credit union and put personal loans alongside our savings. Then, if I could wring another day's work out of the week, get rid of the child minder and have my wife stay at home I could have her tax credits. It really seemed to add up. But then the house sold for €400,000 - even my imagination couldn't beat that.

It was impossible. Something had to give. Finally, amazingly, it did. Quite by accident, I found a four-bedroom house for rent close to the local school. In fact, I found several. The rent was €1,000 per month. A lot of money but still €250 per month cheaper than I had paid three years ago. All the houses for rent seemed cheaper. All that investment in the rental market seemed to have paid off, but this time for the tenant.

I went to view one - it was immaculate. It had a diningroom, garden, tasteful décor, four bedrooms, and yes, stairs. Now all I had to wrestle was my pride.

I had said I'd never rent again. I wanted to buy. Renting can be awful, and yes, it is dead money. Also, in Ireland, you have no security of tenancy. If the landlord decides to sell up, as has happened to me before, they can. The best advice is to buy. But if you can't, you just get so tired beating yourself up about it. So I finally accepted that the market had beaten me all by itself and I simply wasn't going to be a home owner. It was a sad day.

The upside? I'm renting a house that I could never afford to buy, I have stairs for my children and a great neighbourhood. I might not own the walls around me but I've got my life back and at least for now have lost an incredible burden - saving for that bloody deposit.

Gary Quinn is a researcher and lecturer at the School of Communications at Dublin City University