Tales of catastophe, sex and squalor from the Alpine Underbelly...

Belle de Neige

Wednesday, 13 January 2010

The evils of the studio appartment

This year I have gone from living in my own 3 bedroom home, avec super kingsize bed, tempur mattress, fluffy carpets and dressing room, huge marble and tile bathroom, and a seperate cupboard specifically for my handbags, to living in what is essentially a black hole of doom hovel with two other girls (aforementioned H and L).

The mentality of sharing this space has been much less difficult to deal with than I expected. Specifically because H and L are top roomies and relatively aggro free human beings. Also, deep down I am actually a bit of a grubby urchin at heart, despite Shazzer's protestations at Glastonbury last year that I have a dirt-repelling superpower. No, it's not the mentality of sharing that's the problem.

Because we spend 90% of our time cleaning other people's shit from toilet pans, dishes and floors, said hovel is never cleaned. And it started out fustily filthy anyway. I mean, like, you have to dust off and wipe your feet before getting into bed if you want to avoid crumbs of unidentified mildewed goip all over your sheets. There is crap everywhere. Ski equipment, knickers hanging off curtain rails to dry, crispy ski socks which have been reused far far too many times sitting on radiators, Snickers wrappers, condoms.

Well yes, particuarly condoms. And this is the real issue. There's nowhere private to shag.

Not that this presented much of an obstacle for L last night. I awoke, bleary eyed from my afternoon and evening of heavy drinking, at about 4am and lay there for a few minutes wondering idly why I had been untimely ripped from the womb of sleep. Before it all came into disturbing focus. Those scraping noises, that squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak, the heavy breathing. The fact my bed is being shunted rhythmically by the dresser, because something else in rhythmically shunting the dresser.

Oh. Right. Great. Yeah. My room mate is having the back bashed out of her with H and me in the room. Tops. I can't move or even cough as disturbing them would make this even more excruciating. I can't even reach for my ipod to block out the slapping noises. The fucker's in my coat.

And I really need a pee.

2 comments:

  1. I feel sorry for the American kids who have roommates at College. Did you work out some sort of sexile system in the end?

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  2. Ha! It mainly worked on a system of bribery and subterfuge...but anyone who's been to boarding school (most Chalet Bums) are pretty deft at furtive under-duvet sex in a room full of people anyway...

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