. . . . . .
Got off surprisingly well for the whole uni experience, I suspect I could have been the housemate from hell, with penchant for much drinking, drugs and loud music, except 3 out of the 4 of us are still, 10 years on, best mates.
The other girl, well, she was a weird one. A neat freak if ever I did meet one. If we had been in her room and moved ONE thing, eg, turned a stapler the other way round, she knew immediately. Her tins of food in the pantry used to be perfectly and symmetrically arranged with labels aligned to the front. Of course me and my partner-in-crime took great pleasure in periodically spending a few minutes turning everything upside-down, which she handled with remarkably good grace, and a rictus smile.
As she shared a room with my other friend in the first year it gave us the perfect opportunity to turn her room upside down, chairs, bed, desk, poster. Stopped short of the wardrobe. Took us about ½ hour of mischief and giggling, probably took much longer for her to recover from the invasion (mentally).
She met a bloke after the first year, and our second and third years we spent with him in our house virtually every weekend listening to her coital squeaking and giggling and playing the SAME FECKING POLICE SONG over and over. I still cannot listen to ‘Roxanne’ without feeling homicidal.

Plenty of years of professional wastrel avoiding any form of responsibility and living out of nurses homes post-graduation (hey it was dirt-cheap and easy) meant I have sampled the delights of living with different professionals from a variety of cultures. All I can say is . . . No wonder MRSA exists.
The Brazilian nurse who thought it was perfectly acceptable to leave used tampax in an open topped bin in the toilet until someone else emptied the bin..
The doctor who used to plaster the sides of the bath with thick body hair after each bath ( and no, there was no shower, you had to wash it out by hand, ewwww)
Two phillipino nurses (in a tiny flat share of 4) who used to apparently multiply like gremlins, I’d walk in and there’s be, like, 2, I‘d turn round then there‘d be 6, come back later and there were 8. They used to make phone calls back home at all kinds of hours, just never at socially acceptable times (time difference between UK and Phillipines) and because the phone was right outside my door, disturbing us normal working folk who don’t work shifts.
The best was some lunatic couple who I think had left their respective partners/marriages to shack up together, moving into a tiny double room in a dilapidated nurses home. With me three doors down. I think the trouble started after a messy night out where, I admit, we were pretty raucous when we got back, and a formal complaint was made. It was a pretty sociable place for everyone else there but particularly the woman in the couple made things quite unpleasant and focussed on me (probably because I played right back at slamming doors as loudly as she did, playing music loud and generally being a pain. And we had to share the kitchen). Looking back it can’t have been easy for her, leaving the relative comfort of a husband and 2 kids and own home to shack up with a younger man in that place, and a fair bit of guilt must have been involved. Good. She was a total bitch, and they split up not longer after I moved out. Still bitter? Yup.

No length joke, I’m proud of it.
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Mon 9 Apr 2007, 18:35, Reply)