The romantic part of me thought living in a share house in the UK would be a bit like an episode of This Life. I would be doing a lot of shagging, drinking lots of red, perhaps snorting some illicit substances. Or at the very least scampering around in my sexy bathrobe to scoff cake at midnight by the light of the refrigerator, Nigella style.
But it hasn’t quite turned out that way. For the start there’s my crappy bathrobe. It’s very thick and pink. It was a size too big but it was on sale. I look bloody ridiculous in it, especially when combined with my purple slippers with the lilac sequin love hearts on them, also on sale. I am a vision of frumpiness. I look like the lost Jedi Knight, Porky-Wan Bathrobi.
There are seven chicks living in our house. Luckily there are two bathrooms. But there is one tiny fridge. All the chicks seem to live on cans of soup, yogurt and ready-to-eat lasagna from Sainsburys. There’s not a vegetable in sight. But the fridge is crammed tight with condiments. I’ve never seen such an impressive assembly of relishes and mayonnaise. Then there’s the Jams Throughout The Ages, topped with bursts of mould. We have managed to carve out a third of a shelf for our own food, but I think the Glaswegian Chick’s radioactive Cheddar Cheese has plans to invade.
It’s also quite a challenge getting your washing done with six other rivals for the machine. It’s one of those front loading ones. Our washing machine back home would briskly hurl your clothes around until they were reduced to a pulp, but this one gently tosses your undies back and forth like they were made of eggshells. It does a sterling job, but can take up to two hours for a cycle.
Quite often I stake out the laundry with a big club in my hand, ready to knock anyone out who tries to jump the queue. Well not quite. But I am holding three clothes racks hostage in my room. We don’t have a dryer, so the racks are a prized commodity. I stole them in the dead of night and I am not going to give them up without a bloody fight.
This morning I awoke to the sight of my socks and undies and bras all perched along the racks. They looked rather menacing. I should just try to buy some smalls that aren’t black…