Brief recap: in January, I mentioned that the accommodation my housemate and I found was clean, secure and functional. Frequent visits to said accommodation, followed by the long-awaited moving day, have challenged my original opinion, leading me to just accept how we will be living for the next academic year. But, despite all the horror stories I’ve heard, not least regarding living with your best friend, things are getting off to a pretty good start, with partially amended plumbing, teddy bear fights and a balanced diet of apples, baked potatoes and church refreshments. More about the flat in a bit, but until then, my much-loved best friend and housemate…
Hannah and I first met at a Christian youth group, aged 14 and 15 respectively, when she spotted me being the recluse that I was and gave me a hug because I looked “depressed”. On seeing each other in the school corridors after that, my reaction to her gradually went from “who is this strange person?” to “Somebody actually notices me!” Realising that we were both “special” was one of the things we bonded over – I have Asperger’s, she is severely dyslexic. Our mutual school/Christian activities were another, and before long we ended up in the same tent at Soul Survivor, annual teenage Christian camp extraordinaire. Since then, Hannah has never had any faith in my sense of direction. So looking for the facilities in the middle of the first night was a bad idea. How did I know I was going to need a search party? Despite that, she has put up with me with unending patience, hugs, and renditions of “Amazing Grace” to this day, supporting me through my grandmother’s death and my exam disaster. And I couldn’t appreciate her more.
Back to the flat. More recent visits to it revealed that all was not quite as it should be. One thing that bothers me is that we are not allowed to use blu-tack. Which I think would be a small price to pay for fatty deposits all over the kitchen, a broken entrance light and dysfunctional bathroom plumbing. The issue that made the biggest impression on me, as a notorious hygiene freak, was the fridge. Many of you whom I have spoken to recently may have picked up on this by now. Hannah and I came over last Tuesday for some last minute cleaning and tidying. I had just started anti-bacterialising the stale smelling fridge when I inadvertently opened a well concealed compartment full of stinking, decaying food. Curry sauce, garlic, mayonnaise, chocolate and goodness knows what else.
After staring in shocked silence, I called Hannah over and we attempted to remove the worst of it, with me having a heart attack when some of it fell on my hand. Hannah suddenly announced she was going to be sick; not wanting to ruin the recently cleaned floor, I unceremoniously bundled her out of the room. Though I myself was fighting the gagging reflex for the rest of the day, we managed not to throw up and, perhaps more surprisingly in my case, didn’t develop a phobia of fridges.
Moving out has been a blur of stress, excitement and exhaustion. On Saturday morning, I was a bundle of nerves and emotions, not helped by certain cats desperately trying to follow as I left the house. Arriving at the flat somehow calmed me down no end, and our parents soon left us to it with a cheery farewell. We tried out Leicester City Vineyard Church yesterday, and found ourselves up to our ears in food, old friends and more new people in a day than I normally speak to in a month. A bit demanding of social energy, but a sure sign we had landed on our feet. Our second day ended with us snuggling up in bed with Hannah’s laptop in front of us, watching a film, chatting and having a laugh just as we always do. I sincerely hope that we always will. Two days down, eight months to go!