Friday 16th September
Today sees the arrival of the flame headed one to the house. Ginger’s arrival stimulates a mad panic around the house, her fiery nature means we have to cover the whole house in flame retardant covering. Only joking. it’s due to her hair being so red it could literally set the place on fire.
Ginger has come back to Southampton after a summer of basically living her dream: working in a pub and being bought drinks throughout her shift. When I ask her how the job was, her words were along these lines: ‘It is BRILLIANT. Getting pissed while watching the football. Love it.’
That above comment will give you an idea of what to expect from Ginger this year. This is also the girl who uttered the following gem following Birmingham City F.C’s relegation from the Premier League last year: ‘I either need to get drunk or get laid. And we all know you need to get drunk to get laid.’
It’s going to be an interesting year.
Sunday 18th September
The house is still missing one person. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on what level of crap we’re prepared to put up with at that moment) Charlie returns today. Around 9 o’clock, we get a ring to tell us he has arrived at the station, and his chauffeur should be arriving soon to pick him up. The chauffeur is Johnny, who is less than pleased at this request.
Charlie’s flair for the finer things in life is still intact apparently. He informs us on the phone that he has found £80 in his quilted gillet, and has decided that if he didn’t know it was there in the first place, he didn’t need it.
So he decides to blow the load on alcohol for his return.
I decide to thank the higher power that only made it £80. If it were more I imagine someone would have ended up having their stomach pumped.
Monday 19th September
The inevitable has happened. Someone has decreed the house is too dirty, and that all six of us must clean our abode. From top to bottom.
I turn around and there is a Johnny shaped cloud of smoke; he’s disappeared so fast he’s basically operating on Looney Tunes physics. ‘Rugby’ is the excuse. Allergies to cleaning is probably the reality.
So then there were five.
We are each given jobs to do. I will tackle the kitchen, Charlie will tackle one bathroom, Ginger the other, and Worzel and Barbie will hoover and clean bannisters between them.
I walk into the kitchen with a sense of optimism about me. Wipe down the surfaces, do the washing up, mop the floor. With such a brilliant plan of action, how can I possibly fail? Armed with Mr Muscle Kitchen cleaner (the housemates aren’t fond of my joke: ‘Mr Muscle’s going to clean the kitchen. Oh yeah, and he’s going to use cleaning products to do it’, doesn’t go down well. Tough crowd) I stride into the kitchen with purpose. A man on a mission. Think Jack Bauer tackling household dirt instead of terrorism.
And then I see a horrible sight.
The mouldy freezer. Might have forgotten about that. The optimism comes crashing down around me and I sit in the corner in a foetal position, the freezer mocking me with its gaping maw of grime.
It does eventually get cleaned.
But I don’t want to talk about it.
You weren’t there man. You don’t know what it was like.
Sam’s birthday is celebrated in typically raucous style, Cousin It from the Addams’ family makes a surprise visit, and Barbie gets some unwelcome news.