There are surely few phrases in the English language that are more instantly dispiriting than “council tax rise”. As far as buzz-kills go, it’s pretty much deadly. But those three joy-sapping words are pretty much inescapable right now, thanks to news that, for the third year running, the vast majority of households in England will be hit by the maximum possible increase to their council tax bill come April, when the new financial year kicks off.

On Monday (17 March), it was confirmed that 88 per cent of 153 English upper-tier local authorities will introduce a 4.99 per cent increase to council tax come April – that’s the biggest raise that they’re allowed to introduce without holding a referendum. My council is one of them, and statistically speaking, yours most probably is too. Six councils have even been given permission to raise bills by significantly more than that: Bradford council, for example, has introduced increases of 9.99 per cent, while both the London borough of Newham, and Windsor and Maidenhead in Berkshire, hiked rates by 8.99 per cent.

Council bosses argue that these increases are imperative in order to tackle a crisis in local government funding and try to fill up a budgetary black hole (a much-cited cautionary tale is the story of Birmingham City Council, which had to effectively declare itself bankrupt back in September 2023). But however much these raises may or may not be justified, this is news that no one wants to hear, after a difficult few years in which bills and everyday expenses haven’t so much crept up as leapt up across the board, while wages have essentially stayed stagnant.

If you live alone, like me, this news may well leave you with a lurking sense of dread, that horrible feeling of “how am I going to make this work, when the rent / electricity / gas / water / insert basic utility here has gone up too?” And what’s particularly frustrating is the fact that council tax already hits solo dwellers hard. In terms of bills, it’s my chunkiest outgoing outside of my rent; a few quick calculations reveal that the amount I pay monthly is approximately the same as my internet, electricity, water and gas bills put together.

If you think about it proportionally, those who live on their own already tend to pay proportionally more council tax than our coupled-up peers, or those who live in house shares. A sole occupant in England, Scotland and Wales can currently claim a 25 per cent discount on their council tax bill. It takes the edge off, certainly. But when you consider the fact that a couple living in the exact same property would be able to split their council tax bill 50/50 between them (and would potentially have two full-time salaries to draw from, instead of one), you start to see just how much pressure the current system places on single occupants on a single income. Is that really fair? A 50 per cent discount probably wouldn’t be realistic, I know. But the current discount doesn’t really touch the sides when you consider all the other expenses we’re shouldering: the fixed standing charges on our electricity bills for example. The TV licence. I could go on.

When I asked the Ministry for Housing, Communities and Local Government about how the rises will impact single occupants, a spokesperson said: “While councils are ultimately responsible for setting their own council tax levels, there is support available for single occupant households through a 25 per cent discount. This government is determined to put more money in people’s pockets as part of our Plan for Change and that is why, despite the inheritance we have been left, we are maintaining a referendum threshold on council tax rises so that residents can have the final say over excessive increases.”

When these raises kick in next month, I won’t be able to split the burden in half and spread it across two wages. A single parent certainly won’t either, and neither will a pensioner living on their own. Instead, we’ll have to go back to our constant mental maths: if that bill increases by x amount, I could stop doing y? Maybe that would cover it?

Of course, the ever-present brain buzz of doing the sums is not the sole preserve of solo occupants. Almost everyone is finding things very tough right now. But all of these rises and price hikes seem to land with a particularly heavy thud when you’re already labouring under the weight of the so-called “singles tax” – ie the extra money that you end up paying just to exist as a single person, without sharing costs with a partner. The financial services company Hargreaves Lansdown has estimated that a single person spends an average of £1,851 on monthly household bills, compared to the £991 spent by each half of a couple (don’t get me started on how much more we spend on staying in far-flung corners of the countryside to attend other people’s weddings).

The current council tax situation feels like yet another reminder that modern life just isn’t set up to be traversed solo. Last year, the single-person discount appeared to be briefly under threat, with reports speculating that the new government was considering scrapping it. Initially, ministers refused to rule it out, but the Treasury eventually confirmed that the move would not be going ahead. At the same time, there was no similar talk of, say, cutting back on tax breaks for married couples.

Unfortunately, single people are a political constituency who are repeatedly overlooked, hence all the soundbites about making things better for “hard-working families” (usually shorthand for a couple with their two children); we’re pretty much ignored when we’re renting in house shares and face the same fate if we decide to strike out alone. But the price of living alone doesn’t just impact singles: it also forces couples to jump into living together before they’re ready, or to stay in relationships that just aren’t working because they simply can’t afford the alternative.

Living solo is certainly a privilege; it’s also something I’ve opted into willingly, knowing the potential disadvantages and the financial strain (if you’d lived in as many rat-infested house shares as I’ve done over the years, you’d probably do the same). But I strongly believe that we should be trying to make it more, not less accessible. Yes, I could go back on SpareRoom. Yes, I could probably even move in with my parents again at the age of 33 (pending their approval – Hi Mum and Dad!), though I’ve done that for a bit already. But I find it baffling that we infantilise grown adults in this way and make it seem as if the difficulty of living solo is somehow our fault, rather than the result of an unfairly weighted system. Cranking up council tax feels like just another knockback on an already tricky path.