flatshade-blog

[flatshade-blog]

The Bunny Effect

Boy do I live with a character! You better sit down for this one. I'll begin by saying I did not know what to expect when I moved into my flat (after waiting accommodations). My biggest question being: what will my flatmates be like? I can honestly say that none of you have ever had a flatmate like Bunny. Bunny is a special kind of crazy, not much of a filter, always doing ridiculous things he deems hilarious (though to be fair some of it is a little funny). 1. Putting his pants into the oven, ACTUALLY believing that it'd dry them. What REALLY happened was, he stunk the whole kitchen out, burnt his trousers and created a fire hazard 🔥👍🏼 2. Boiling milk in the kettle... really?! 3. Every morning at 8am, like bloody clockwork: Hindu music blasts from his room, which of course, is right opposite mine! So we've got this cleaning rota and a job is to clean the inside of the microwave. 4. Bunny likes to put his curry in the microwave without a top on, resulting in a food splattered and orange stained microwave which I once had the "pleasure" of cleaning! "Oh, my juice has expired" he said. My first thought? Throw it in the bin. What did he do? 5. Opened the kitchen window and poured out the expired liquid... we live on the top floor (face palm). Many instances like the above have occurred: a. Food b. Bottles c. Boxes My personal favourite? d. Throwing objects that're on FIRE out of the fucking window!!!!! To conclude, I really hope I get out of this flat alive! Who knows, I could be set on fire and lobbed out the window, covered in curry and boiled milk 😵 - The Girl On Fire

[flatshade-blog]

the smell of rotten curry.

It has now been seven months of me being shocked each day by not waking up with a deadly illness caused by the health-hazardous sink, fridge and counters. Four of us, out of nine, fill the kitchen with cuss words and pissed-off insults as we struggle to do our daily necessities. 

We dread every cleaning day – the one in which we are required to clean the messes of those we live with once a week. We group up and rant about the people that we are stuck with and the complaints that we wish we could report. Each of us counting down the days until we move out.

I eat every meal on my bed or my desk because the shared counter table is always covered in dried rice and three-days-old chicken from the local Indian take-away. Is it really that hard to clean up your mess and throw away the food containers?

I carefully stack my food onto my one single fridge shelf, with hopes that the moldy curry from above will not spill again. Can you not see the science experiment currently growing in your container which has its lid half open?

I pick up my milk carton to discover that someone has used half of it, again, without asking. Can you not afford a 45p carton of milk?

The counters are covered in peeling egg whites. How did you miss the pan? 

At the end of the day, will we ever get the flat mate bond that we expected and discussed at the beginning of the year? No.

Do I want that? No.

Will I always be grossed out by the nasty kitchen? Yes.

But at the end of the day, cheers to only three more weeks and never having to live with these guys again!

- Tired Ath.  

[flatshade-blog]

the elephants upstairs.

As a person, I would like to think that I’m rather patient and tolerable when it comes to most things. Living with people that are messy? That’s fine, they’ll learn the hard way. People taking my food? I’ll lock that away or keep it in my room. People partying outside? They’re young, let them enjoy it – besides it’s a weekend. However, there’s a limit to this patience that I hold and, it can only last so long.

The first time I heard the noise, it honestly startled me – I was laying in bed, dozing off to sleep and then ‘BOOM’ my windows shuddered. Then it happened again and again, followed by the scraping of furniture along the floor. It sounded like someone was dancing and moving around the chairs in their kitchen. In the beginning, I let that slide. Maybe they had a drama performance. Maybe they did dance as a subject. To be fair, I had naps at the strangest of times, so it was understandable that they were noisy in the middle of the day.

But the noises didn’t stop.

Even at four in the morning, I would hear the grinding of chairs and what I could only assume was jumping. I feared that the roof above my head would eventually break. Now, I eventually I went upstairs to find out the source. It was three in the morning and I was about ready to murder a person because not only was there the jumping, but there was music. MUSIC AT THREE IN THE MORNING ON A WEEKDAY. Eventually I knocked on the door and some large bloke answered: I politely asked if he could stop the music and his excuse was golden.

“ Oh I’ve got a flight to Italy in a few hours. ”

I don’t think I could stress enough how much I did not give a shit if he had a flight or not. It was three in the morning, he shouldn’t have been playing the bass so loud that my walls shook. However, it was safe to say that he did at least turn on the music. And as I crawled into bed, I heard that thumping again and soon realized – that was him walking. So, the noises haven’t stopped because honestly? How do you tell someone to walk quieter?

- Mod Ash.