Until recently I  thought I was easy to live with; I’m relatively organised ( though I am a bit messy, so shoot me I’m 20) and I’m not very noisy at all. But it struck me, whilst rowing with my best friend (who lived with me) over whether it’s unreasonable to ask that she breathes away from me at night, that I’m possibly more of a Jon Richardson. This theory  has been confirmed this week as I’ve moved into shared accommodation (first year) and less than one full week later I’ve got enough material and rage to write an article for you. So with this in mind, and inspired by Jon Richardson Live at the Apollo, this is my list of 10 reasons my housemates have to die and I have to be the one that kills them.

I live with eight other people, four girls and four boys. This sounds ok but one of the boys has previously slept with not one but two of the girls, and then never called them back. Much to his horror he has to live with them this year – the atmosphere is as you’d expect. Belfast isn’t like other Unis; because going anywhere else in the UK costs £6,000 more, all the A level students go to one of two universities, which makes for many hideous (yet hilarious) encounters.  Whilst I find this very (very very) funny now, I can’t help but think it’s going to become unpleasant rather soon. We’ll see.

I am asked every single day “why is the floor sticky?” “gosh, this floor is always sticky” “what keeps making the floor sticky?!” I don’t know, maybe it’s the sticky fairies who come in in the morning when we’re all asleep and polish the floor with “sticky” or maybe, just maybe, when you’re doing your fourth drunken rendition of Footloose, stood on the kitchen table, you kick over everyone’s drinks. I don’t know. Mystery. I got up this morning and the kitchen was surprisingly unsticky. “FANTASTIC” I thought, “they’ve cleaned up!”. How naive was I? They had left the roof windows open overnight, it had rained, kitchen flooded. Is now very clean though.

When I hear Footloose now it makes me want to hurt things. Every day one of my housemates puts it on, and not just once, but over and over again. Go listen to it now, then listen to it again and then again and tell me you’re not annoyed by it. I used to like it but not since it’s been forced upon me by a drunken Irishman who, by some miracle, doesn’t seem to know the lyrics.

Another happening which inclines me to believe that it’s not the sticky fairies is my housemates’ habit of attempting to punch cans of beer open. I say attempting because the last time one of them tried it exploded, covering him and me, and his hand cut open, bleeding on him and me. I was very unhappy collateral damage.

Another reason I’m going to have to kill them all, relating to bodily fluids (I know, I’m sorry) is vomiting drunken friends. Stopped flatmate from choking on his own vomit last night, I could hear him through the paper thin walls. How did he repay me? Lets just say if I had been wearing shoes at the time (which unfortunately I wasn’t) I would be needing some new ones….

We seem to be in a toilet roll shortage. I think this is for two reasons; reason one, downstairs clogged their toilet and are now bathroom refugees, reason two, drunken housemate ripped toilet roll dispenser off wall, preventing cleaners from replacing toilet roll. This would be extremely annoying had I not just bought a surplus of toilet roll. I was willing to share, I donated one toilet roll to the cause, but it was used up within six hours. And the day before I even bought air freshener. This is why I don’t really feel bad about leaving my housemates high and…not dry; I’m not the patron saint of toilets, I don’t owe them anything, they can buy their own toilet roll.  This does mean, however, that I need to ninja it down to the loo or I get caught by toilet roll bandits. Can only pee when housemates are not looking.

Flatmate was locked out at 4am because he couldn’t remember keycode/ left key in the flat. I lay in bed pretending to be asleep. It wasn’t raining, there were other more-awake people in house. But no, after 10 minutes of the doorbell ringing I went down the 6 flights of stairs (that’s why I was being so selfish, by the way) walked along the hall, put my hand on the door knob and sure enough someone pushed open the door and let him in from the outside. Traipsed back up 6 flights. Never letting anyone in/ getting out of bed again.

Other minor complaints include; leaving oven on but turning fridge off, setting common room fire alarm off at 4.30am, trying to get into my room thinking it’s theirs, playing “house” music all night (whatever that is), using the shower the exact moment I want to and dripping beer on my laptop. I’m sure we must have hit ten by now.

So I don’t know, maybe it’s me being unreasonable, and it is freshers’ week, but suddenly I feel like “that dickhead- every house has one” And they’re not bad people, they seem quite nice really but fucking hell they’re hard to live with. So that’s why, Dear Reader, soon I may have to kill them….That is, if they don’t poison themselves with room temperature food first. Or I might just never mop the kitchen, and wait until one day it becomes so sticky that it’s like human fly paper, and I can live happily ever after peacefully cleaning my skirting boards with antibacterial wipes (watch the video).