1 week ago
14
The only people I know who speak glowingly about house shares are the ones no longer living in them. When I hear someone describe their house-sharing era as the “best time of my life”, I know they have had at least two years to forget their trauma. That is not a luxury afforded to me – I am living in my eighth house share with my 18th housemate, still holding on to past horrors like they happened yesterday and facing the anxiety they may happen again. So here they are: the 10 worst moments from my many house shares.
Finding my housemate’s stash of ecstasy in my favourite mug
It was the first time my older sister had visited my house share and she had her six-month-old baby in tow. I was determined to show her that I was no longer a grubby student. I was a working adult and I lived like one.
I covered our grimy table with a tablecloth and pulled the chairs that didn’t match around it. I would serve chicken pie with buttery mash and an array of vegetables.
When she arrived, I went to make her a cup of tea in the nicest mug I owned – only to find a wrap of MDMA crystals inside. Furious with my housemates, I sent a photo to the group chat immediately. No words, just: “?!?” For a few hours, there was silence, then an apology. I had made my point. Then, with the type of passive aggression unique to house shares, I made sure it didn’t happen again by moving all my mugs to my bedroom.
Realising that my housemate washed his clothes without any detergent
This particular house share had a few hygiene issues from the outset. An obscene amount of beard hair was being left in the sink and there were mice hanging out under the toaster. I had also noticed a persistent smell of damp, similar to the smell of rotting leaves. Then I watched my housemate stuff his clothes into the washing machine and switch it on. No powder, no tab, no liquid; no detergent of any sort. When questioned, he told me detergent was a waste of money. I insisted that he helped himself to mine, any time, all the time. I decided it was more cost-effective than continuing to buy heavily fragranced candles to mask the smell.
Losing my temper with a housemate who had called me out
It was the tail end of the pandemic and I had just got a taste for nights out again, albeit socially distanced ones. Because of levels of nervousness in the house, my housemates and I made a pact to socialise outdoors only for a while once restrictions lifted, out of respect for each other. But then I went out, got carried away and broke the rule I had been instrumental in making by going inside a friend’s house.
When my housemate raised it (because clearly I hadn’t been in a park until 2am), I was so cross that I yelled at the top of my lungs about all the things she had been doing to wind me up over the three years we had lived together. It was never the same after that. I learned a steep lesson in knowing when to accept, with grace, that I was wrong, as well as the importance of voicing concerns early, rather than waiting until tensions are running high to pull out a list of grievances.
Asking my housemate’s boyfriend to pay rent
From the day I moved into this house share, I clocked that my housemate’s boyfriend (let’s call him Dan) was around a lot. It was a sociable house and we would often have dinner together. He was quick-witted and funny. But after a month passed, I realised he was living here. Every. Single. Night. When you’re in a house share of four, paying an obscene amount of money for a room and a share of the shower, it’s hard to welcome someone who is not doing the same. I found him less and less funny.
When Dan let himself in (with a key we didn’t know he had) to “drop some of his stuff off”, I decided to ask him to pay rent. It transpired he had nowhere else to live; he really had moved in full-time. Still, he didn’t want to contribute, but he vowed to stay with a friend a few nights a week. After that, we agreed as a house that partners should stay over no more than three nights a week.
Cleaning up a stranger’s sick after a misjudged housewarming
We were new housemates. I thought she and I would probably be friends soon – we just needed a bit of time. A housewarming! What a good idea to help us bond. I made punch and invited my friends, who turned up with clinking bags full of booze. Her friends arrived with bags of cocaine, which one of them appeared to be selling. Apparently, we had envisaged very different housewarmings.
After a couple of awkward hours, her half of the party left the flat to attend a rave, bar a few stragglers – one of whom vomited all over the kitchen floor. While my housemate was out raving in a forest, I was on my hands and knees mopping up her friend’s sick. I vowed to make sure I met new friends in a neutral location before hosting anything in the house share in future.
Discovering that a departing housemate had ransacked the cupboards and stolen every knife
She had grown to hate me because she thought I was deliberately slamming doors to upset her. I had explained that they were just heavy fire doors, but by the time she decided to leave the relationship had soured. The morning she was moving out, I sent her a “good luck with everything” text from the safety of my office. When I got home, all the doors and drawers of the kitchen cupboards were open. The place had been ransacked and she had stolen all the cutlery, as well as the kitchen knives. I lived in fear of her coming back, so I asked the landlord to change the locks.
Being trapped in my room until my housemate had finished having sex in the lounge
I have long thought that the success of a house share is closely linked to how well the space is set up for communal living, as well as privacy. This one, where the doors to our bedrooms bordered the lounge, was doomed from the off – especially for two women in their mid-20s who were casually dating.
One night, I woke at 4am to scratching sounds against my wall. I lay there paralysed, trapped in my room. If I opened my door, I knew I would see them in the throes of passion. I stayed put and reached for my earplugs, too embarrassed to let them know I could hear every thrust and gasp.
Hating myself for getting up at 6.30am to claim the kitchen table
Living in a house share where all four people worked from home meant there was a daily fight over the communal workspaces. If you didn’t make it on to the kitchen table, you would be cooped up in your room. We became as pathetic as holidaymakers laying out their towels on sunbeds at the crack of dawn until, eventually, we saw sense and drew up a rota.
Discovering that the person stealing from us was my friend
This one still lays heavy on my heart, because it was a sorry situation and I had very few of the life skills needed to deal with it. I was living with a friend and her boyfriend, who had become a friend, too. Money and alcohol had been going missing for months – sometimes even from our rooms – and the vibe in the house was fraught. When I caught my friend’s boyfriend in the act, I knew I had to tell her. In hindsight, I wish I had kept quiet. I may have solved the mystery of the gin thief, but getting involved cost me our friendship.
Waking up to the horrified faces of my housemate’s elderly parents after a night out
My housemate was older than me, recently divorced and in a fragile place. I was still in my post-university partying era and I thought she was a bore. I can see now why she would be angry at the eight hungover bodies in her living room on a Sunday morning, especially when she was planning to host her parents, who had travelled a long way to see her, but at the time it felt as if she was being unreasonable. I left the house share at some point after this incident, moving into one where house parties took place monthly – and where my housemates stashed their MDMA in my favourite mugs.
How to Stay Sane in a House Share by Alice Wilkinson is out now (DK Red, £14.99). To support the Guardian and the Observer, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
