I had two of them, almost concurrently.
Both fucking mental as a fish.

Steve, the Irish engineering student was my first. He was off his frigging tree. My outstanding memory of him (aside from the immortal question 'So, is that an 'acoustic' guitar, then?') was when he kicked a hole in our Swedish flatmate's door, and then proceeded to question him about it all evening. 'What happened to your door, Keith?' 'Keith...what happened to your door?' 'What happened to your door, Keith?'

Keith, naturally, left shortly there after. He was replaced by Pierre, a 7-ft gangling French chef (this is a scummy ex-tenement flat in Paisley). He used to barricade himself in his room by putting his sofa across the (fixed, by this point) door so he could play Gran Fucking Tourismo all night at full volume. He had a lovely habit of bringing cheap potted meat back from his work and leaving it in the fridge until it gained fluff. And his snack of choice: Farmfoods Economy Burgers, microwaved for five minutes until yellow goo was dripping out, and sandwiched in between two slices of cheaparse white bread. I chose not to frequent his restaurant.

Thankfully, Steve left shortly after Pierre arrived - I don't think I could have coped with both of them at the same time...
(trumpet, Fri 6 Apr 2007, 22:29, Reply)