Flatmates

A *top* weekend, although I had to dress up as a lapdancer* (not my usual weekend garb). Spent it with my old flatmates. We don't get to meet up as a group that often so it's a real treat when we do.

The five of us lived together for about four years in our mid-twenties and we never had any problems living together as a group: no awkward Shallow-Grave type interviews when we were assembling (and no-one died: if they did they certainly wouldn't have had a stash of cash); and once we all lived together no arguments over stolen milk / cleanliness / shopping for stuff for the house.

There's not even anything bitchy I can say: we all got on fabulously, had a great laugh; held fantastic parties which our house (detached house with cavernous dance-ready rooms downstairs) became well-known for (by party-goers, neighbours**, estate agent and eventually landlord - losing us our deposit but who *really* expects to get that back?) and all became good friends. Quite boring, I know.

Now time is tight and with us scattered between Birmingham, Harpenden, London and Devon, it's such a treat to meet up together. It's a relief that nothing has changed between us, though it's been years that we lived together.

Also had side benefit of spending a weekend away from the Arctic Hole that is my flat and to not have to sleep with dressing gown and balaclava, though my cough /cold still refuses to budge.

Finished off weekend (and myself) with a drink with the lovely Gordon Gekko, who gave me an overview on how he copes with his 'arena of hedonism'. Sorry I couldn't stay out late Gordon - I think my days in said arena are over...

* Lapdancer costume is due to flatmate S insisting on a 'murder mystery' type dinner thing. I don't think it really panned out as he planned as we just all got completely legless and took the piss out of each other's character. Surely the normal thing to do under those circumstances (am not a fan of these things). Although I have to admit I have seen people on a Saturday night on Swansea's notorious 'Kingsway' wearing not too dissimilar stuff on their way to some of the nightclubs on that road.

** Admit at this point that we had one neighbour that we didn't like too much who was nicknamed Mrs Give-A-Fuck. Worse run-in with her involved someone who will remain nameless pissed out of her/his head throwing ice cream at her conservatory one night. She asked for it, really.