Never mind that it is the size of a shoe (there was an old woman who lived in a 'spacious studio apartment') or that the Liberties is a far cooler name. I am on the 'ladder'.

Months of trawling through websites. Hours spent listening to that sergeant of liars, the estate agent. Realising that Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Cask of Amontillado' is not about a man being bricked up in a confined space, it's about the legendary Irish 'box room' that turns so many tiny two-bed houses into even tinier three-bedroom ones.

'Daft. ie' is right. As we began seriously researching a property, I couldn't believe it. Tiny Victorian worker's cottages for 300,000?

Former council houses beyond the reach of firsttime buyers?

We liked a house in Loughlinstown that seemed lovely and within reach of Killiney Hill until the taxi driver told us it turned into Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome at night.

We saw a small house off Pearse Street that backed onto a gated lane and seemed very exposed to the (criminal) elements. "Oh no, " said the estate agent, "That gate is always locked." We walked around the corner . . . the gate was wide open. Were those spent shell casings and a blood spatter on the pavement or was it just the light? That house went at auction for 900,000.

Trying for a mortgage was difficult. I wrote letters to my bank and kept the account healthy. One day I received a letter saying that, since it was doing so well, would I like to meet them to discuss what to do? Yes!

Score! Alas, they wanted to arrange for me a pension and would I like some insurance?

"No, I want a mortgage, " I said. "What I want is one of those 50-year 100% mortgages. You know the ones they say you're giving to every human and her pet?" Frowns all round at my little joke.

"Mmmmmm, " they murmured. "Self-employed musician and writer. What if it all went wrong?"

"Well if you're worried about me you shouldn't give me insurance either."

Silence. "I'll get my coat."

Later that day they told me that, as my business only had one-and-a-half years of audited accounts, my own bank (where they wave and smile at me) could only give me 180,000. No dice. As I began to consider relocating to a hedge in Mayo I discovered the little gem (with the operative word being little). It was going for 203,000 . . . a miracle.

I asked the estate agent where he thought it might end up. "Oh, I should say 215,000." "Not if no-one else bids on it, " I said, and no-one did, even after two more viewings. We thought we were made.

Then the phantoms came.

These bidders of the spirit world put it up to 204,000.

I put it up to 205,000, etc.

Casper the friendly ghost kept bidding up in increments of 1,000.

Eventually, on the advice of a friend, I just rang the estate agent and said, "If we just give you the 215,000 you always wanted will these incorporeal beings vanish, or should I call Ghostbusters?"

It was a deal. Using a mortgage broker (as I had been barred from the bank) I got the place, and it only took four more months and a torture chamber of legal Torquemadas to close the deal.

I should be delighted. I have the keys. But just as things are looking rosy, the OECD and the Central Bank have weighed in with their annual predictions of doom.

Then we had Fallout, the RTE docudrama about a possible fire in Sellafield, showing how property on the east coast would be worth diddly-squat after a disaster like that (and speaking of squats, one of the best bits was about how the mansions of Ailesbury Road would become temporary housing for irradiated scobies).

Most famously, the Economist predicted an Irish housing crash in 2000 with house prices falling by as much as 20%. Thank God (and Greed), that didn't happen. In fact, house prices have doubled since 2000. And that's because I and much of my slacker generation are only getting into property now, so the bubble is just getting bigger.

In the end, the Irish are the most voracious property people in the world, and that's why the bubble cannot burst. Those who are not on their third Irish property are on their second foreign one. So I beseech you, all of you, to continue this insane escalation, so that those of us who've just got on board can feel as clever as everyone else.

I should be delighted. I have the keys. I look around.

You know, I could have sworn there was a bath in this place. Damn!

Paddy Cullivan performs at the Leviathan political cabaret in Crawdaddy on 4 May