Katie Price admits she's facing homelessness as she can't find a guarantor for new rented property days before moving
Former glamour model Katie, 46, admitted she's struggling to find a guarantor for a new rented property, despite having a glowing reference from her current landlord.
Speaking on The Katie Price Show podcast with her sister Sophie, the mum-of-five explained she's only got 'a couple of months' left in her current rental after the owner decided to sell.
She said: 'I was supposed to have this place for about two years. The guy who owns it – such a nice guy – he let me have the place even though I didn't have a guarantor.
"And I've been on time with all the payments, as you should, bills and everything. But now he wants to sell it.'
Katie added that trying to find a new home has proved more difficult than expected – even with her good track record as a tenant.
She said: 'It p****s me off. Some houses I look at, I can't get a guarantor. Some people don't earn enough to be one for me.
"One house I do want, the landlord wants six months' rent up front and a guarantor – even though I've got the best reference ever from this guy.
'It's so annoying. Because that guy has read the papers and that, I get judged on it.'
Sophie chipped in, pointing out how competitive the rental market has become, with more landlords demanding guarantors regardless of the tenant's situation.
The TV personality was evicted from her dilapidated Mucky Mansion last year amid ongoing financial issues.
Katie's former home became synonymous with its down-and-out nature and its constant need for repair and upgrade.
Katie Price SLAMS Love Islanders for having sex on TV and insists she would 'never' do it
After being kicked out of the mega-mansion, Katie was forced to move into her current four-bedroom house in Sussex.
She previously spoke of her joy at moving into a £5k-a-month new build and starting a fresh chapter.
Last month, we exclusively revealed a buyer had snapped up the Mucky Mansion for less than Katie paid for it in 2014.
The rundown pad, which has nine bedrooms and four bathrooms, was bought for £1.15million - £200,000 less than Katie paid for it.
She previously insisted it was worth at least £2million.
Katie said last year: "I absolutely have hated my mansion.
"I tell you why, nine years of hell I've had there. Fly-tipping, it's haunted… And I am living with it.
"Whoever buys that house, good luck! I hate it."
Katie - once worth £45million - moved into the mansion ten years ago.
Katie Price's missing millions
At the peak of her career Katie had an estimated fortune of £45m, thanks to her lucrative modelling career, book deals, and TV appearances.
The cash-strapped mum-of-five was first declared bankrupt in 2019 over unpaid debts of £3.2 million.
In a podcast interview earlier this year, she blamed her exes who include Peter Andre, Alex Reid and Kieran Hayler and lawyers for her money woes.
She insisted that funding her exes' lavish lifestyles with cars, watches, luxury holidays and homes left her finances in tatters.
She added: "I went through a breakdown, this is how mine started - lawyers and exes, that is my bankruptcy thing.
"And obviously a bit of HMRC.
"When I had my breakdown, if anyone has been depressed… I don't know if you've ever had depression.
"It starts with depression and you just want to sleep all day and not talk to anyone, the phone would ring and you wouldn't answer it.'
In March, Katie was declared bankrupt for a second time over an unpaid tax bill of £761,994.05.
The demand for payment was made by HMRC last October.
Katie was due to give evidence about her finances at the High Court but failed to turn up - holidaying in Cyprus with her new man JJ Slater instead.
Her Mucky Mansion was a bomb site for years after it was burgled, flooded and swamped by an overflowing septic tank.
She finally moved out at the end of May and is renting a four-bed mansion in Sussex.
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(Home also paints standing on his head, with the brush put between his toes, and explains at length that it's best to do so in an attic room with a sloped roof.) So he joined classes at a municipal gym near his central London council flat. But he soon bristled at what he found to be a 'worldview grounded in essentialism and anti-empiricism'; he hated the 'occult-saturated health misinformation' that his instructors 'spewed forth'. They went on about how ancient the practice was, how important chakras were, and the remarkable benefits of doing these simple moves. 'I found some of what the yoga teacher said incredible,' he says. 'When you go back to the older sources for that stuff, they'll claim that a shoulder stand, or whatever, will cure leprosy. It's quite absurd.' View this post on Instagram A post shared by Stewart Home (@stewarthome1) Home also came to fear that something altogether more sinister was lurking beneath yoga's surface. He read about Eric Atwood, a far-Right provocateur who in 2016 was photographed in a newspaper in a half-lotus pose, his hands in prayer position with a neo-fascist Celtic-cross flag behind him and a 'Make America Great Again' cap resting on his right knee. So it was that Home, with literary élan, decided to investigate the origins of yoga and why it was seemingly so popular with such people. According to Home, the key character in the early development of yoga as we know it is Pierre Bernard, a self-styled American yogi dubbed 'The Great Oom', who operated at the beginning of the 20th century. Bernard was, Home says, in truth a Californian escapologist who sprinkled some 'orientalist fairy dust' on his circus moves and packaged it as a profound and ancient 'Aryan' practice. That tradition was picked up by the 20th century's fascists and neo-fascists, such as the Italian thinker Julius Evola – a favourite of the likes of Steve Bannon – who wrote guides to yoga and Hindu spirituality. All of this, according to Home, has trickled down into the attitudes of the 'crunchy moms' of West Coast America, who are sceptical of vaccines and love Robert F Kennedy Jr. In other words, being the sort of person that buys into yoga woo-woo is also the sort of person who might buy into conspiracy theories and extreme beliefs. It's exactly the sort of provocation out of which Home has made a career: something to make those who are immersed in a cultural mainstream that he regards as effete and onanistic clutch their pearls in horror. It can be difficult to know how sincerely any of Home's output is meant to be read. But Fascist Yoga approaches its subject with a seriousness that's palpably absent in Home's previous books. He admits that it has 'a bit more of a straighter edge… it just felt the right way to treat the material.' Home is fit, with the physique of a man a couple of decades his junior, as he demonstrates when, for our photographer, he holds the lotus pose for a long time in the hot London sun. 'I do tai chi, for my sins, which I enjoy – but I tend to stay away from teachers who start telling you how it's a 5,000-year-old tradition, because it isn't,' he says. 'I don't really understand why saying something is old makes it good. Someone had to invent it at some point and whether that was two weeks ago or 5,000 years ago doesn't make that much of a difference.' His upbringing may go some way to explaining the zaniness of his career. He was adopted as a baby and grew up in Merton, south-west London; by the age of about 12, he had developed 'a critical interest in the occult' and was reading books on the topic. His mother was a bohemian drug addict, and had worked at Murray's Cabaret Club at the same time as Christine Keeler. Home was briefly the bassist in a ska band, and by the end of the 1970s had begun writing fanzines and experimental texts. He has been a sui generis writer and artist ever since. As a non-mainstream Leftist – of that camp, but not a fan of the Labour Party – he has often been lumped in with anarchists, to his chagrin. In 1994, he wrote a column about them, at a time when the British tabloids were frantic that they might become violent insurrectionists. 'I was saying they couldn't organise a p--s-up in a brewery, which seemed to go down a lot worse with anarchists than saying they were a violent threat to society.' The piece led to people following him around London, and to the suspicious appearance of claims that he was an undercover police officer or a child trafficker. Home has since been more circumspect about revealing anything of his personal life. As we talk, we walk around Bunhill Fields, a burial ground on the fringe of the City of London, and the final resting place of Daniel Defoe and William Blake. The original plan had been to talk at his nearby flat, but Home didn't want to be photographed there, whether inside or outside it. And, given his writing has been full of bilious invective, he's surprisingly softly-spoken. So much of his work has been about sex. Dead Princess is highly pornographic; in some scenes, a ventriloquist's dummy gets involved. Doesn't he believe that some things in literature can be beyond the pale? 'I think some things are in bad taste. Racist jokes are in bad taste. Lots of things are in bad taste. But I don't necessarily believe the same things as other people. 'There's a lot of sexual repression now. I think we've been moving backwards, in that [literature about sex] is either divided into porn, or quite sanitised, in a lot of mainstream culture. And if I read my old books with younger audiences, and you just use words like 'C--t'…' He mock-gasps. C--t, he points out, 'is just a book, and it didn't get the same reaction at the time. As long as it's not used in a kind of misogynistic discourse, I don't have a huge problem with Anglo-Saxon. I think it depends on context as well. I think it would be quite hard to get a lot of the early books published now. It was very hard to get Art School Orgy published.' Home has often been accused of writing things that seem to make factual claims, yet are palpably untrue. Does objective reality matter? 'What I particularly enjoy doing is telling people things that are true and have them not believe me,' he replies. Is that because you have told so many untruths, I ask. 'Maybe. I'm not sure. I also enjoy people thinking something shouldn't exist.' Take the Necrocard, a joke organ-donor card for supporters of 'sexual liberation' for necrophiliacs; he devised that one after a friend needed a kidney transplant. An error by the printer meant that Home had about 50,000 of them, which he handed out to people in Soho. 'The local Aids hospice was desperate for as many as they could have,' he says with not a little relish. But when it comes to yoga, it's different. 'If people want to do yoga, I can't stop them, and I wouldn't want to stop them,' he says. 'But I think they should be informed about what it is, where it comes from and what the potential risks are of some moves.' For once, Stewart Home appears to be serious.
