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Beware your flatmates
 As
the saying goes you can’t choose your family but you can chose your
friends — so choose wisely.
The same can be said of flatmates.
Last week I waved goodbye to couch-surfing at my friend Lee’s and
said hello to a shiny set of new housemates.
After much heartache and numerous fruitless viewings I finally settled
on a small room in a modest three-bed house in London’s west side.
As I’m sure any of you who have ever shared a home with strangers
will know, it can be a lot of fun but it can also be a complete and utter
nightmare.
Conflict between flatmates can cause a lot of stress which in turn can
play havoc with your sanity.
And funnily enough it is often a series of minor, trivial incidents that
blow up into such a drama that someone usually ends up having to move
out.
When it comes to keeping house most people have their own particular ways
of doing things and their own set of rules as to what’s acceptable
and what’s not.
I’ve always considered myself to be a fairly decent housemate —
not too loud, not too untidy and happy to help out with minor domestic
chores.
My new flat is shared with two others – a blonde beauty from Eastern
Europe and a jack the lad from Dublin. (How is it that no matter where
you go in the world you’ll always end up within talking distance
of another Irish?)
I have now contracted myself to living with them both for the next six
months.
Busty Bulgarian Dee is a fitness fanatic and a personal trainer at a nearby
gym.
Al — my fellow Irish — claims he is an up-and-coming DJ but
has so far failed to spend more than 10 minutes away from the sofa, while
living on takeaways for breakfast, lunch, dinner and everything in-between.
Dee and Al are polar opposites — but already both are beginning
to display a series of habits that are, to say the least, incredibly irritating.
I’d always thought that when I moved out of the family home I would
get away from rules but now I’m beginning to think they are a necessary
evil when sharing with strangers.
But doesn’t it seem just a little ridiculous to sit down two grown
adults to try to reach an agreement on issues like: Who will do the washing
up? How late can the stereo be played? And how not to invade other people’s
personal space.
I’m not a morning person.
I never have been and I doubt I ever will.
I have therefore come to despise those who feel it is necessary to greet
each new day with an excited yelp.
A far more appropriate reaction, I feel, is to drag one’s tired
and weary body out of bed at the last second, crawl to the shower and
then maybe, just maybe, open one eye.
Dee is the opposite of this and gets up before most of London’s
party people have even gone to bed.
Full of life, she is constantly on the move, stretching, dropping to the
floor for a couple of push-ups.
“GOOD MORNING! DID YOU SLEEP WELL? YES?” she’ll shout
when she sees me trudge back from the bathroom towards my bedroom.
I will usually manage a grunt or a groan as I struggle to see through
bleary eyes and push my unruly bed-hair from my face.
Not content with my reply she will then proceed to follow me to my room
before saying: “JUST GOING FOR A QUICK RUN IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO
JOIN ME?”
Now forgive me if I am wrong but one of the most important things to remember
if you want to sustain a good flat-sharing relationship is to always respect
your flatmate’s property and privacy.
So, for example, ask if you want to borrow something, always knock before
entering their room.
And NEVER follow someone into their bedroom at eight o’clock on
a winter’s morning with a ludicrous suggestion of going for a run!
I understand that some people are by nature untidier, nosier or more carefree
than others.
And often when you share a house you have to respect other people’s
differences and be as considerate as possible (even when you don’t
really want to).
But as I am fast discovering Irish Al is just not one of those people
— especially when it comes to abiding by the food rules.
You know the ones: Never eat your flatmates’ grub without permission,
(even if you’re starving and the only other option is a grubby left-over
slice of pizza from the night before) but if you do make sure to replace
it before they notice.
Take last Sunday for example.
I woke up and went to make some breakfast.
I wasn’t feeling that hungry so I decided I would just have some
toast.
I opened my butter container and was just about to dig in when I found
an excessive amount of bread crumbs and marmalade inside — totally
contaminated!
I asked Al if he had done this but he denied it, which is funny because
he’s the only person in the apartment who eats marmalade.
Disgusted I decided to make a bowl of cereal — only to find that
there was no milk!
“Sorry,” Al called from the sitting room. “I used the
last of the milk earlier and I haven’t had a chance to pop out for
some yet!”
They do say that the best way to deal with problems is to make sure you
have regular, open discussions with your flatmates about all the issues
going on in the house.
And that talking about the little things that bug you might stop them
from turning into bigger dramas later on.
So I guess the time has now come to have that chat.
But in hindsight I think I might have been better off if I had stuck to
the other age-old saying: Chose your friends carefully and your flatmates
even more so. |
