David Slack: We have pretended for so long now that our houses are worth more than they really are, and borrowed to make the lie real, that we have created an economic trainwreck.

OPINION: My friend Roger and his wife Tara live in a house in the Christchurch hills with lovely views and a beautiful tree and lawn, and at night rats play and fight and shriek in the walls.

Six years ago the earthquake wrecked their house. Six years on, they're still waiting for action from their insurance company. You may have seen them on TV this week. They've been told by experts that the ground beneath the house is completely stuffed and it will cost something like $860,000 to fix it. Vero disagrees and says $280,000. All they've had for six years is expert after expert and inspection after inspection, and how long should you have to wait, really? Also, what would you do if that were you? And how do you feel about rats?

I say their names because they were happy to talk about this on Fair Go but I know people who aren't yet ready to grab the microphone but are mad as hell. So here come some fake names with true stories about the state of people's homes today in the most beautiful country in the world.

PETER MEECHAM/STUFF There are families living in motels, garages, and cars, says David Slack. If this is what success looks like, I don't know how much more of it we can take.

Barbara lives in Christchurch, which is known for its serene and gentle Avon river, its serene and gentle sports fans, and thousands of homes that were supposed to be fixed by builders and paid for by EQC and the builders got paid, thank you very much, but many of those repairs turned out to be worse than useless.

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Barbara's own house only got its first inspection five years on from the earthquake and it ticked 13 of the 13 red flags EQC looks for. She keeps more or less serene and gentle and I don't know how.

She says she's seen people trying to sell their repaired houses and finding that they fail the buyers' building inspections, which means banks won't lend to the buyer which means they're stuck there. No sale. Please remain serene and gentle, we'll see if we can get it fixed the fourth time around.

Caitlin lives in Wellington. The aftermath of last year's earthquake has left their rented Wellington house with a big expensive repair job, but the landlord has taken shortcuts because have you priced a bathroom lately? The way she explains it is: "It's not up to code. Don't ask. Insulation fail. Foundation fail. Plumbing fail."

But she'd rather stay where she is than try to find another home. Wellington is short of places right now and many people are sharing rooms. "Housing everywhere is munted," Caitlin says, "prices, conditions, rental shortages... it's terrifying."

Frances has mould on the walls of her Auckland flat and it's given her bronchitis. She jokes about someone maybe giving her a house, please, because that's the only viable option she can see of ever owning one.

Nicole has a good media job but it pays not all that much. She has no idea when or if she'll ever have enough for a place of her own.

She makes dark jokes about it but she's also enraged, and so is Frances, because their lives are not even remotely the spendthrift indulgence that some of the people who bought a house in the 1970s perceive it to be.

Generation Rent has been caught by the inescapable arithmetic that says twelve times $70,000 a year is a hell of a lot more than three times $70,000 a year. We have pretended for so long now that our houses are worth more than they really are, and borrowed to make the lie real, that we have created an economic trainwreck.

There are families living in motels, garages, and cars. If they're lucky they might get to live in the crappy-looking, tiny, converted caravan in Auckland that was going for $210 a week on Trade Me this week.

Paul is an Auckland builder. He was asked last week for his price to demolish a four million dollar house. Its new owner had bought it because it impeded the harbour view from her own home. "For as long as I've lived here," she told him, "it's annoyed me."

The Prime Minister has been saying that what we're seeing is the cost of success. If this is what success looks like, I don't know how much more of it we can take.

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