I don't actually - this is the title of a book given to me by a very dear friend who is possibly the funniest woman I have the pleasure of knowing. It's a very 'her' gift and it's all about flat sharing. As you may have come to realise, I do live in an interesting house with a lot of interesting people, but often these interesting events get a little bit tiresome, and sometimes make me wish to write notes such as this:
Dear ....
Hope you don't mind me cleaning your damp wank rag off the table. It's just that I was expecting friends round for dinner and they probably think that it's a fucking disgrace that someone would have the audacity to wank in my living room, then wander off like they'd just finished work for the evening. This note serves to close your grubby little episode. It's also your notice to leave the house. In the meantime, put one foot wrong and I'll set fire to your stuff, not even kidding.
Fortunately for me, I haven't had to deal with this sort of shit. However, it comes pretty damn close. Take this evening, for example. I'd been away for the weekend, I'd spent the weekend relaxing, cooking and eating. I also spent a little part of it cleaning up - yes, I'd helped my boyfriend clean his house and do the washing up after having friends round for dinner. Isn't that nice of me? Aren't I a nice person?
Well, no, not really, I just have a bit of decency. Something that, surprisingly, a great number of people seem to lack. I grew up with someone cleaning up after me, which is probably why I am quite a messy person. However, I do know that it's common courtesy to clean up in someone else's home when you make a mess, or at least offer to. Which is why I was pretty pissed off when I got home tonight to find the lounge looking like a modern art exhibition - in a bad way. Dry muesli, bits of Connect Four, empty Subway bags and, strangely, sultanas, were scattered all across the living-room floor like it's the perfectly normal place for them to be. It wasn't my mess, but I cleaned it. It wasn't my other housemate's mess, but she did the washing up. That's normal. What's not normal is to completely ignore the fact that the lounge that YOU or YOUR FRIENDS left in a mess has been cleaned by SOMEONE ELSE and not even bother to acknowledge them.
And here's another note I'd like to write:
I pay the bills. What do you do? This isn't a doss house so could you give me the rent.
It's fair enough to struggle for money when you're a student. You're too busy putting off doing your dissertation and painting props for your student film project to get a job. That's obvious. But when you're a graduate, it's just a little bit pathetic to a) not be working or b) not be actively seeking a job. And, hey, there's always option c) - go on the dole. Yes, I hate it as much as the next guy, but not as much as I hate not being able to pay my electricity because some idiot can't be arsed to do anything constructive with his life.
I actually do love my flatmates (some more than others, admittedly) but it's true what you say about never living with friends. While it's not always a disaster, it's better to stick with what you know, live with people who you've lived with before, people you can scream and shout at and know that they'll love you anyway. And living with people who have been brought up to respect other people is essential too, but sadly, in my four years of experience, a rarity indeed.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Edible Science
In an attempt to educate myself in the matters of science, I have started reading New Scientist. This new hobby is borne of having a boyfriend who knows everything about everything, and I am sick and tired of asking what he terms as ‘stupid questions’ (well I can tell that’s what he thinks anyway) about the scientific realm, which, as it happens, covers most things.
Never mind that I know everything there is to know about Noam Chomsky, the Frankfurt School theory, Political Economy, Liberalism, our good friend Karl (Marx) and coached two of my best friends for their politics and media law exams because I was the star student. They didn’t too well, but I don’t take it personally – my beautiful but incredibly ditzy blonde friend was surprised when I gently informed her that ‘no, Hayley, John Major was not Margaret Thatcher’s son.’
Anyway, I digress, as usual. I’ve been attempting to read up on science so that M and I can have interesting conversations about the latest life-changing scientific breakthroughs. (He’s not interested in Media Theory). But to be honest, it all goes a little bit over my head. Although I did find it rather fascinating that, according to research in Indonesia, Male macaque monkeys are apparently ‘paying’ for sex from females by grooming them for a certain amount of time. I also learned that certain crops lock carbon away for years, thereby cutting greenhouse gas levels in the atmosphere and averting us all from, it seems, a certain death.
Apparently, crops such as wheat and sorghum are the thing to grow. However, one of the problems I can see is this: With more and more health scientists (okay, Gillian McKeith) telling us that wheat is ‘bad’ for us (well, bread), less people are eating it. This may be total rhubarb, but it does lead me smoothly onto my next point: Stupid diets. Yet another of my housemates has succumbed to the ridiculous idea of becoming a vegetarian. We’ve already got one veggie, another one who doesn’t eat ‘carbs’ (she doesn’t know that carbs are short for carbohydrates, incidentally) and another one who eats only chicken and fish. However, we do have two boys who eat anything that’s put in front of them (and then steal from other people’s plates when they haven’t yet finished their dinner.) Their most common way of doing this is ‘have you finished that?’ while simultaneously picking up the last piece of chicken on my plate and putting it in their fat gobs.
However, that’s not the worst eating habit. No, what takes the cream is people who prefer not to eat with their mouths, using the teeth and saliva that God gave them to chew and masticate their food. Instead, they blend their food into liquid (usually made up of horrible green strange vegetables) and then place it into a bag and, get this, administer an enema. Yes, that’s right – they take their food up the arse. Quite literally. In fact, they even have ‘coffee’ enemas and take that up their bum too. I didn’t catch the beginning of the programme, so I didn’t find out their bizarre reason for doing this, but my conclusion is that they are sick. In the head. Following closely with weird eating habits would have to be the hippy mum (a bit like Marcus’ mum in About A Boy but weirder, and less depressed, although heaven knows why) who feeds her children on a diet of raw food. She also doesn’t give them bread. She does, however, give them pollen and plenty of strange looking things in jars, that are apparently very good for them. The poor kids have never had a cooked meal or sandwich in their lives.
Speaking of which, I’m off to make one - a big fat ham sandwich with lots of cheese. Wheat, meat and dairy all in one. Right after I’ve finished reading the rest of New Scientist.
Never mind that I know everything there is to know about Noam Chomsky, the Frankfurt School theory, Political Economy, Liberalism, our good friend Karl (Marx) and coached two of my best friends for their politics and media law exams because I was the star student. They didn’t too well, but I don’t take it personally – my beautiful but incredibly ditzy blonde friend was surprised when I gently informed her that ‘no, Hayley, John Major was not Margaret Thatcher’s son.’
Anyway, I digress, as usual. I’ve been attempting to read up on science so that M and I can have interesting conversations about the latest life-changing scientific breakthroughs. (He’s not interested in Media Theory). But to be honest, it all goes a little bit over my head. Although I did find it rather fascinating that, according to research in Indonesia, Male macaque monkeys are apparently ‘paying’ for sex from females by grooming them for a certain amount of time. I also learned that certain crops lock carbon away for years, thereby cutting greenhouse gas levels in the atmosphere and averting us all from, it seems, a certain death.
Apparently, crops such as wheat and sorghum are the thing to grow. However, one of the problems I can see is this: With more and more health scientists (okay, Gillian McKeith) telling us that wheat is ‘bad’ for us (well, bread), less people are eating it. This may be total rhubarb, but it does lead me smoothly onto my next point: Stupid diets. Yet another of my housemates has succumbed to the ridiculous idea of becoming a vegetarian. We’ve already got one veggie, another one who doesn’t eat ‘carbs’ (she doesn’t know that carbs are short for carbohydrates, incidentally) and another one who eats only chicken and fish. However, we do have two boys who eat anything that’s put in front of them (and then steal from other people’s plates when they haven’t yet finished their dinner.) Their most common way of doing this is ‘have you finished that?’ while simultaneously picking up the last piece of chicken on my plate and putting it in their fat gobs.
However, that’s not the worst eating habit. No, what takes the cream is people who prefer not to eat with their mouths, using the teeth and saliva that God gave them to chew and masticate their food. Instead, they blend their food into liquid (usually made up of horrible green strange vegetables) and then place it into a bag and, get this, administer an enema. Yes, that’s right – they take their food up the arse. Quite literally. In fact, they even have ‘coffee’ enemas and take that up their bum too. I didn’t catch the beginning of the programme, so I didn’t find out their bizarre reason for doing this, but my conclusion is that they are sick. In the head. Following closely with weird eating habits would have to be the hippy mum (a bit like Marcus’ mum in About A Boy but weirder, and less depressed, although heaven knows why) who feeds her children on a diet of raw food. She also doesn’t give them bread. She does, however, give them pollen and plenty of strange looking things in jars, that are apparently very good for them. The poor kids have never had a cooked meal or sandwich in their lives.
Speaking of which, I’m off to make one - a big fat ham sandwich with lots of cheese. Wheat, meat and dairy all in one. Right after I’ve finished reading the rest of New Scientist.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Christmas Newsletters
Don't you just hate those sickening round-robin letters that people write to all their friends and acquaintences, telling you all about their wonderful year, their fantastic children and their newly acquired possessions? Well, I do, anyway. And with the dawn of email it makes it even easier for people to invade your inbox and attach disgusting photographs of their daughter's wedding and their son's new car. I mean, honestly. Some people have no shame.
But imagine EVERYONe wrote a round robin letter over Christmas. I would probably enjoy the letters then. You'd get letters like this, for example:
'2007 has been an interesting year. Our wonderful son Noah has told us he was gay and has since been introducing us to countless boyfriends, most of whom last about a week and are from northern europe. Meanwhile, Sarah has turned to heroin as an escape from her mundane job at Tesco and has been impreganted by her pimp. However, he is very suportive and comes round each morning to inject her eyeballs with the highly addictive substance. Dennis is having an affair with our window-cleaner, who is a transsexual, and I'm currently undergoing therapy after I tried to jump down three flights of stairs. My doctor sent me straight to the shrink after I explained the incident by saying 'If it was good enough for Princess Di, it's good enough for me.'
However, being the hypocrite that I am, I will be subjecting you to a little 'round robin' of my own, by telling you all about my Christmas holiday. So here goes.
The usual family time is always good. I then embarked upon a trip up to Essex, to spend an entire week with my long-distance boyfriend. This was going to be a tough one.
It started off swimmingly when he gave me a 'Global Warming Mug' for Christmas. This is a rather charming little gizmo that has the ability to depress you when you have your morning mug of tea. How it works is this: You pour hot water into the mug and watch as 'valuable seafront property disappears before your very eyes'. M was incredibly impressed by his gift and spent the rest of the week demanding he be served tea in it every morning. Thanks babe.
On the plus side, he did buy me a Banksy book (now out of print) and also the new Russell Brand DVD and he even pretended not to mind when I visibly dribbled while watching this comedy genius do his stuff, so I guess I'm a lucky girl, really.
I was also treated to what I now term as 'lectures of the day' which usually involve M spouting off about something or other (global warming/George Bush/the evils of capitalism/all three if I'm extremely lucky) and must say, learned quite a lot.
We also attended a mud race. Mad dogs and englishman sort of event, rather entertaining and rounded off with a very good lunch of turkey pie. Yummy.
But imagine EVERYONe wrote a round robin letter over Christmas. I would probably enjoy the letters then. You'd get letters like this, for example:
'2007 has been an interesting year. Our wonderful son Noah has told us he was gay and has since been introducing us to countless boyfriends, most of whom last about a week and are from northern europe. Meanwhile, Sarah has turned to heroin as an escape from her mundane job at Tesco and has been impreganted by her pimp. However, he is very suportive and comes round each morning to inject her eyeballs with the highly addictive substance. Dennis is having an affair with our window-cleaner, who is a transsexual, and I'm currently undergoing therapy after I tried to jump down three flights of stairs. My doctor sent me straight to the shrink after I explained the incident by saying 'If it was good enough for Princess Di, it's good enough for me.'
However, being the hypocrite that I am, I will be subjecting you to a little 'round robin' of my own, by telling you all about my Christmas holiday. So here goes.
The usual family time is always good. I then embarked upon a trip up to Essex, to spend an entire week with my long-distance boyfriend. This was going to be a tough one.
It started off swimmingly when he gave me a 'Global Warming Mug' for Christmas. This is a rather charming little gizmo that has the ability to depress you when you have your morning mug of tea. How it works is this: You pour hot water into the mug and watch as 'valuable seafront property disappears before your very eyes'. M was incredibly impressed by his gift and spent the rest of the week demanding he be served tea in it every morning. Thanks babe.
On the plus side, he did buy me a Banksy book (now out of print) and also the new Russell Brand DVD and he even pretended not to mind when I visibly dribbled while watching this comedy genius do his stuff, so I guess I'm a lucky girl, really.
I was also treated to what I now term as 'lectures of the day' which usually involve M spouting off about something or other (global warming/George Bush/the evils of capitalism/all three if I'm extremely lucky) and must say, learned quite a lot.
We also attended a mud race. Mad dogs and englishman sort of event, rather entertaining and rounded off with a very good lunch of turkey pie. Yummy.
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