Ode To My Flat

It's the last night in my flat. I'm melancholy and sentimental.

After a year and a half here, I'm kissing flatsharing goodbye. An important milestone for ex-pats in London. I'm saying no to randomness and compromise.

To ease my sadness I'll reflect on things I won't miss about my flatmates.

Firstly I won't miss the dread of hearing the entrance door slam, the march up four flights of stairs and the wall shattering door slam once they're home. I recognise which of my flatmates are coming up the stairs. Like my tall lanky flatmate, who scrambles like an puppy dog with legs too big for his body.

I won't miss flatmates from hell. Like the one who blowdries her hair at 1.30am, has guests visit almost everyday, has a rumbling loud voice and calls Brazil at 3 in the morning. She smokes in her room and leaves a Barbie doll's head of hair in the drain after a shower.

Or the other flatmate from hell who rarely showers and I've only seen him do 1 load of laundry in six months. He needs to walk through a car wash. He was using our towels to dry himself. When he finally bought his own, it was blue but turned brown by the end. He wears sneakers on the bathmat and thinks that's normal. And he never pays the bills on time, once he did'nt pay rent for 2 months. He's never done the housework.

I won't miss the paper thin walls. I can practically hear my flatmate's pants drop on the floor which does'nt bode well when he's singing the Greatest Love Song Of All Time. Two of his boyfriends I remember fondly.

One was shrieker. He shrieks when he laughs. Actually you can't tell the difference from when he's laughing or crying.

The other got up in the middle of the night and crept into my bed! I woke up to him lying across the foot of my bed and I kicked him out. He did'nt say anything but fled like crazy. I think he was sleepwalking.

Aside from flatmates, I won't miss the things that go wrong. Like how the disintegrating sash windows which are air vents in winter. Or how easily the drains block, the lack of water pressure and when my radiator burst and someone came to fix it, the flat did'nt have hot water or heating (in the dead of winter) for five days.

On that note, I'll conclude by reminiscing on how lovely my room is, especially when the sun is shining through. Or when no one else is home and the place is blissfully silent. It's my last night and even though it's emptied out, I love being here.

I've been packing and carrying stuff downstairs to my new flat for four nights. I'm knackered and off to Paris in the morning for a race on Sunday. Lots going on.

Moving out tomorrow and it's the end of another chapter of London.

Edited to add that after I moved out, I was told by my other flatmates that "greasy" handprints were left on the walls surrounded the bed. Ewwww.....