And More Difficult

After moaning about the lack of conversation in this house on Wednesday, I now find myself eating my words and would be quite happy to return to something a little more quiet.

Unfortunately, on Thursday night, my two Hated Housemates returned within minutes of each other. I’ve no doubt it was carefully orchestrated, as they hate facing anyone in this house on their own.

But this time was a bit of a shocker. They not only returned themselves but brought at least five or six “friends” from home. Thursday is vodka and Red Bull for £1 a go at the local student bar. This legendary night – an absolute disgrace since it makes people pissed and completely hyperactive – was obviously enough for them to want to impress their friends with the joys of Hull.

While me and the only other housemate were sitting in the living room, we heard all the pre-going-out activites. A whole crate of Fosters was drunk. They ran up and down the the upstairs landing, shooting BB guns at each other, shouting, roaring, laughing and generally just being complete tits. As my room was upstairs, I couldn’t get to it. It’s impossible. The atmosphere was far too charged.

While all this was going on, through good snooping my friend overheard that one of the housemates said he is quitting for good. This is the housemate I hate the most, and he’s the one who has made my first year at University quite difficult at times. It came as no surprise – he hasn’t been in for months and he should have left in December – but it was still worthy of celebrating. It suddenly made sense. He’d invited all of his friends here for The Last Hurrah – and probably a chance to piss me off (since I am his key target) as much as possible.

There was no probably about it. I decided to go to bed at 11pm so that I could get to sleep before they came back. I’ve done this before and most times it works. Somehow I sleep through the noise.

But not this time. 12:30am I was woke up by an almighty noise as they came back with their late night takeaways. Another steaming night out was concluded; he likes to make a lot of the fact that he can go out at 9pm, get pissed to buggery and return by 11pm proclaiming it the greatest night out ever. To me, a “night out” involves staying out till at least 2am, but not to this guy.

They ran up and down the stairs, chanting, shouting, singing, for at least an hour. They argued and fought, and one of them decided to sleep in their car outside. My door got knocked on several times, as did my friends. Luckily I have a lock on it, but no one attempted to come in anyway.

I know I should have said something, but I was fiercely outnumbered. The other consideration is the fact that my Enemy gets very brave when the alcohol is in him. In the daylight of sobriety, he is weak and feeble. Put a bit of ale in him, and suddenly it is to him as spinach is to Popeye.

I managed to get back to sleep, only to be woken again with more noise at 2am. I now needed the toilet – uncannily inconvenient since I never need to go the toilet in the night – but I just couldn’t leave my room. I also noticed that the central heating had been switched on and realised it had probably been on for two hours. They had no intention of turning it off and they don’t need it anyway given that they have electric heaters in their rooms. Obviously this was one to piss me off, since I’ve told him off about this before.

3am came, and there had been enough quiet for half an hour to allow me to leave my room. I went the toilet and turned off the central heating. It would have been left on all night if I hadn’t.

Finally I get to sleep and manage to sleep through till 8 when I needed to get up. Friday had finally arrived, but I felt terrible. Sleep disruption is a nasty thing, and I felt the same all day.

Their chums finally went home at about 2pm, but there was no sign of the planned visit in to University to set the wheels of leaving in motion, despite all the boasts to the contrary the day before. Their words on Thursday evening strongly implied that they would be gone by Friday night. It now looks likely there is at least another week.

Naturally, I didn’t see them at all all day. They deliberately went out of their way to avoid me – the guilty conscience kicking in I’ll wager – and on Friday night they were extremely quiet. This morning I’ve bumped into him and he was terrified to look at me. He said “Alright mate” and I went “Mmm”, while he looked away and fumbled for words in the awkward position.

I just wish he’d go. He’s said he’s leaving… just stop pissing around and about with me and go. My friend has an archive of pictures about the disgusting mess this guy creates, and we’ve recently had to call in pest control as for some reason (or maybe the fact that my Enemy left three binbags full of rubbish in his room for three weeks) we have seen and heard mice around the house again.

There’s something missing in his head. He’s rude and anti-social and the most unhygienic person I have ever had the displeasure of stumbling across. He’s permanently obsessed with putting on the big man act despite being the biggest pussy I’ve ever seen. He’s terribly insecure, and here in Hull, he has precisely zero friends beyond the housemate who follows in his footsteps. He’s incredibly wasteful, and has been heard talking that he is in many thousands of pounds of debt.

He’s not kidding anyone. His life is being wasted, and he’s ruining other people’s while he’s at it. I don’t want to put up with it any more, but all I can do is wait and hope he finally carries out his promises to leave soon. Then maybe… just maybe… I can see a light at the end of this perpetual tunnel.

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