let's get evicted!
way back in the mists of 1993, i moved into my first place away from my parents. it was a bedsit, pretty dire, but all utilities were covered in a £5 weekly payment to the landlord, my mum's boss.
i really didn't like it there, but didn't want to go back to living with my folks. i started to experience something i'd never felt before: depression. i spent most of my time in my room, drinking and smoking, trying to obliterate each day as it came along. then, i hit upon an idea, one that would allow me to move back home without it seeming like i'd given up. i'd get myself evicted! fuck, yeah!
there was, however, one slight flaw in my otherwise brilliant plan: mum's boss would never evict me, unless i completely destroyed the place. when she gets going, my mum is like ma bacon on a mission. plus, if he threw me out, she'd accuse him of picking on me and walk out, taking several off his other staff(who are also my relatives) with her. i'd have to find a way of getting thrown out that was good enough, but didn't look like my fault.
that's when i started having guests to stay over.
my mate debbie being there 3 times a week, using her c.b and interfering with everyone's tellies didn't work. nor did letting my boyfriend stay for 6 weeks. i was getting desperate.
then it hit me. how could i have been so stupid? a party! a massive, destructive, never-to-be-forgotten party! if that didn't work, nothing would!

it worked all right.

one bloke* smashed a bottle over his mate's head, mixing blood, glass and booze which went all over the hallway floor. they continued fighting outside, breaking the wooden railings. my best mate and her fella barricaded themselves in one of the communal bathrooms, where i'm pretty sure they spent much of the night shagging. they couldn't use my bathroom, as another girl and her fella had locked themselves in there as soon as they arrived. they managed to knock a 5 litre tin of white emulsion over, but were clearly too busy to pick it up again. they came out of the bathroom several hours later, exhausted, disheveled and covered in paint. the bathroom was pretty trashed, too.
the funniest thing to happen that night came about because of my love for pickled gherkins. i'd managed to buy a catering-sized "jar" of cocktail gherkins. one of the lads found them and The Gherkin War began. from behind sofa, chairs, wardrobe, cabinets and bed, gherkins were being flung like vinegary green missiles. for over an hour the battle raged, until every gherkin was mush and every partygoer was covered in vinegar and bits of green gunk. fuck, it was good.
within 48 hours, i'd been given my marching orders. mum welcomed me home, blaming my friends for everything, just as i knew she would.
when i finally moved into a proper flat 6 years later, i was much** more sensible.

*i never invited either of these blokes
**well, a bit, at least
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 19:52, Reply)