I'm house-hunting. Which should be fun, right? After all, we keep being told that it's a buyer's market, prices plummeting faster than Bernard Madoff's career prospects, properties sitting on the shelf longer than Bridget Jones, homeowners exhibiting the kind of desperation to sell not witnessed since Julie Myerson began promoting her new book, etc.

Except that it's miserable. How miserable? Well, in the past month I've variously fallen over and slashed my right hand open (ten stitches), succumbed to a mystery infection and spent several days in hospital, recovered to write this, only to fall ill again, and now seem to be exhibiting all the salient symptoms of bubonic plague. But none of this has been as horrific as the property hunting that has sprinkled the beginning of 2009.

There are two fundamental factors that are making the task less fun than having an anaesthetic injection repeatedly inserted into a fresh, gaping wound. The first is that the relationship between buyer, seller and estate agent - which, let's face it, has always been tense and dysfunctional, with all parties circling one another suspiciously, convinced that they're being taken advantage of - has utterly disintegrated.

Sellers are impossible to deal with because they are so embittered at having to offer what they see as ludicrous “discounts” on their property, and are intensely stressed out by the pressure of not giving away personal information, such as the fact that they are getting divorced, or are pregnant, in case purchasers play on their need to sell.

Buyers, meanwhile, are a nightmare because they resent being seen as parasites when the fact is that house prices are still far too high, especially in areas such as Central London, and are enraged at watching the Government give existing homeowners help with irresponsible mortgages when they are being offered no help whatsoever getting on the property ladder. And as for estate agents, well, they're unhappy because they're estate agents, and therefore hate themselves and want to die, and also because their traditional tricks don't work any more.

I recently viewed a house in the West Midlands - described euphemistically as “South Staffordshire” in the literature - and, after being made to wait for half an hour, was required to inspect it with a couple, presumably in an attempt to create the impression of demand and spark a bidding war. In fact, all that happened is that we conferred, agreeing that the house was ludicrously overpriced and the estate agent a tosser.

Here's some news for those in the property trade: things have changed. The few buyers out there don't want to hear about “elegance”, “luxury” and “comfort”. The only phrases we're interested in are “massively reduced” and “heavy discount”.

The second thing that is making house-hunting miserable is that the difficult and complicated dilemmas presented by buying property have become infinitely more difficult and complicated.

You probably don't need to be reminded that picking somewhere to live is a difficult business, but in case you've forgotten, in his excellent new book, The Decisive Moment: How the Brain Makes Up its Mind, Jonah Lehrer provides a reminder by referring to the work of a Dutch psychologist called Ap Dijksterhuis, who has shown that human beings often succumb to something called a “weighting mistake” when shopping for real estate.

Apparently, when given two housing options, a three-bedroom apartment located in the middle of a city that would give you a ten-minute commute, and a five-bedroom mansion in the suburbs that would result in a 45-minute commute, most people eventually choose the large house, reasoning that a third bathroom or extra bedroom will prove very useful for visitors, whereas driving two hours each day is really not that bad.

But, as Dijksterhuis points out, as it's easier to consider quantifiable facts, such as an extra room, than future emotions, such as how you'll feel when you're stuck in a rush-hour traffic jam.

So the reasoning is warped: “The additional bathroom is a completely superfluous asset for at least 362 or 363 days each year, whereas a long commute does become a burden after a while.” In other words, house-hunting inspires people to make mad decisions even at the best of times.

The traditional challenges posed by finding somewhere to live are: deciding between a repayment and interest-only mortgage, weighing up the advantages of fixed-rate or variable loans, deciding whether you should arrange your own loan or hire a broker.

Then you have to resolve personal issues surrounding a move, which in my case includes trying to work out whether I want to live in a house in the Midlands near my family or in a cupboard in London near work and friends, and whether I should buy somewhere now by myself, or wait to buy until Hell freezes over and I start dating someone and get a house with them instead.

Now all these problems are being exacerbated by the emergence of countless other impossible dilemmas. These include: should you buy now if you can get the same house at a 20 per cent discount in a year? Should you wait for the Bank of England's efforts to tackle the credit crunch via quantitative easing to take effect or get an expensive mortgage now? And, for that matter, should you even risk buying property now given that you might not have a job next month?

The amount of decisions that are required to be made is crippling, and frankly it's no surprise that the housing market is exhibiting all the verve and vigour of, well, this bed I'm malingering in.

My only hope is that someone will read this, take pity on a sick man and flog me a house directly. I'm looking for something in NW2 or NW3 or NW5 or N19. Or maybe something in “South Staffordshire”. A flat. Or a house. With a garden. Or maybe not. My price range? Well, in the past month I've been told both that I can get a mortgage six times my salary and that I've got no chance of a loan at all and should give up entirely. I hope that clears things up.

sathnam@thetimes.co.uk

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