Yeah, don’t use their milk. Yep, don’t open their post. Yep, pay the bills and the rent on time. Yes, don’t leave notes all over the house even if you had nice intentions because even if you are trying to say something innocent it ends up reading “I hAtE yOu and I acTUALLY want YoU tO dIe…”

“I didn’t nick it. I just thought the reggae reggae sauce was mine.” 

You’re not a child. You know all that. It’s obvious. “So why am I reading this?” Well, there are a few more things that are worth learning. Lessons that I have learnt from living in student halls, living with mates. Stuff that you don’t necessarily see written down in traditional how-to guides and listed on websites.

They might be pretty contextual lessons, but I hope that there is something that you can take from them.

Lesson One: Never use your housemate’s bottle of reggae reggae sauce

One time, whilst living in student halls, I accidentally used somebody’s reggae reggae sauce that I had found in the back of the refrigerator. I didn’t nick it. I just thought the reggae reggae sauce was mine. 

It was in the Spring of 2008 you see… the time in our lives when we all had half used bottles of reggae reggae left over in our cupboards or refrigerators. A period in history when we actually had a fondness for it shortly, after Dragon’s Den and before Peter Jones started shoving the sauce into unexpected things like pizza (for absolutely NO reason AT ALL).

Anyway, I used up all the sauce, my plate of chicken looked like it had been tarred (but tasted very nice), I threw the empty bottle away and thought nothing of it. 

The other housemate found out about the sauce, and was not impressed with me.

“THAT’S YOUR STORY? THAT’S THE ADVICE YOU’RE GOING TO GIVE ME?”

Well there’s a twist to this story and the twist is this.

She was so enraged by this incident that she then super-glued my bedroom door in.

Let me be more specific.

She glued through my keyhole and added a layer of glue to the hinges of my door.

Not like a little bit of glue that caused you to pick at it and eventually be able to get in, like mildly inconvenienced by the whole thing. Not like a little so the door did eventually open once somebody with slightly better upper body strength than I bashed the door in at a forty-five degree angle.

“Your relationship with your housemates isn’t that strong if it involves insurance claims and University fines for breaking doors.”

No I mean glued to the extent that the porters had to come round an hour later. That the porters had to bash through the lock with a hammer because the lock had totally jammed and my door wouldn’t open. That they then had to unhinge the door using a screwdriver and place it halfway down the corridor because bashing the lock in did absolutely nothing to rectify the situation. That for the next three days every one of my nine other housemates could look into my room as they passed mine to get into to theirs, more or less making my room become like an unwanted reception area.

So… don’t use your housemate’s reggae reggae sauce… EVER.

Lesson Two: Never seek revenge against one of your housemates

Your relationship with your housemates isn’t that strong if it involves insurance claims and University fines for breaking doors. Also, when my other housemates found out about this incident, they didn’t even raise an eyebrow. That is how bad things were.

The worst thing about said housemate at that time was how she always stirred the pot and tried to make other housemates hate each other, spreading lies and rumours about them. She also had a thing about ownership, by claiming that the shower and the toilet area on the top floor was just for her when actually it was for the whole house.

So, I decided to seek my revenge. On the last week of my first year of University, and after a whole year of angst and resentment built up inside me (and after quite a lot of wine), I decided to take the loo roll from her room and then throw it all down the stairs in the middle of the night. I then layered each step with layers and layers of her loo roll, draping it from the ceiling above, connecting it to all of the door handles and hinges. 

It was something that I did that to this day I feel incredibly guilty about, not only because the act was incredibly childish and was a complete waste of material (and because if there was a fire everyone in the house would be f*cked), but also because when I cleared up the loo roll the next day during the hangover there wasn’t any loo roll left because I had then thrown it all out without thinking :(

It was probably made worse by this fact. She had moved out of the flat…. two days earlier, and I didn’t know.

“Two minutes later he passed out on a clothes drying rack, then he woke up, collapsed again and then fell asleep on the drying rack.”


Lesson Three: Never live with a housemate who passes out on a drying rack

Because he is still a friend with me on Facebook (and also because if I admitted who he was I would be probably sued), I cannot mention some minor details in the story. You’ll see why.

So I was living in Blank with a mate called Blank , and one time we decided to have a party. His friends Blank and Blank (who were a couple) and my three friends Blank, Blank and Blank were there. The party was pretty standard, there’s not that much I remember from the night, but for no reason Housemate Blank disappeared half way through. There was a party downstairs and he must have decided to meet them for the first time or something. He didn’t come back.

Our thrilling “party” (of six) continued and by 1am he still hadn’t come back. “Where is he?” I thought to myself. His friends needed to get something from his bedroom (I can’t remember what), but his bedroom was locked and they couldn’t leave until they got it from him.

Then my housemate did come back. He wasn’t well. What were the tell-tale signs? Well, he was attempting to climb the wall thinking that he was a reptile. He also wasn’t able to talk. When I asked him what had happened and whether he was alright, the response I got back was something like “FK,JILWFLG.KZDFBLIK;UJ”. And the third big clue? Two minutes later he passed out on a clothes drying rack, then he woke up, collapsed again and then fell asleep on the drying rack.

At this party he had taken something. Obviously. And now we had to look after him.

We all took shifts ensuring that he was okay and was just sleeping. As Housemate Blank’s friends didn’t want to go home, they both slept in my bed… alongside one of my mates who had just met the couple only several hours ago and had nowhere else to sleep. That wasn’t weird. At all. Friend Blank loved that.

Then when drugged up Housemate Blank woke, still not quite himself, he decided to break into my room, lie down with me, and stroke my face to see if I was alright. He then tried to make out with me, thinking that I was his girlfriend.  

So… don’t do drugs, and don’t live with people who do drugs. You basically look like an idiot, you might endanger your life and you might end up making out with Scott Bryan by accident.