Yvonne and Freya
Once shared a house in Bristol with a workmate I knew quite well, and a girl called Yvonne who also worked with us, but whom neither of us really knew. My move was forced because my parents were moving into a smaller house and there wasn’t really room for me (this was after Uni when I was living with them in a massive house where I had my own bathroom). So I had no choice but to enter the wonderful and frightening world of house-share.

This lasted from 1993 - 1998 when I bought my own house (blissful solitude!). Andrew and I lived in 2 houses during this time, firstly with Yvonne who lasted about a year, and then with his sister Freya.

Freya lived up to her name - she was big, blonde, and loud. She drank pints, belched, owned rats, and was mad. But, despite this, and despite having a voice louder than 10,000 foghorns, Freya was no problem and we all had a great time - house sharing can be a real laugh, as long as you get on with the people you’re sharing with. I sometimes felt a bit excluded as Andrew and Freya were brother and sister, but not very often and they were great mates, I still see them from time to time.

But before this happy period, there was the aforementioned Yvonne. Now, she was in no way as bad as some of the horrendous sociopaths, psycopaths and squalor fiends I’ve enjoyed reading about here, but she did cause Andrew and I a few problems which made living with her a pain in the arse.

She never washed any of her clothes and her room stank. It was piled high with unwashed clothes. Andrew and I used to look inside it in horrified fascination at the mess. It was a tiny room and looked like a tramp’s jumble sale. We once found plates of half-eaten Chinese food UNDERNEATH discarded T-shirts, knickers etc. It was funny at first, but we had to keep her door closed as if left open the fierce, sickly sweet fetor would pervade the rest of the house.

We gave her money to pay the Council Tax (we split responsibility for household bills). She never paid it. She hid the threatening letters and summons, etc, and we ended up paying more because of this.

She kept disgusting food in the fridge, e.g. a polythene bag of sliced hard-boiled eggs she brought back from a funeral. This remained there for weeks until I threw it away. Oh God, the smell. The smell.

Once, when Andrew and I were away for a weekend, she threw a party. When I came back found that people had been in my room and fiddled with my hi-fi and stuff, breaking some things. After that, we could no longer trust her, and out she went, and in came Freya and the good times began.

Boring, I know, compared to other stories.

Pop!

And I believe it is customary to make some joke about length.

Dr S
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Thu 12 Apr 2007, 12:49, Reply)