The house would be our first adventure into the world of extra-curricular responsibility. We met the pasty-faced physics freaks who we'd replace as tenants and they assured us that they would be there on July 1st, ready to vacate and hand us the keys. We were particularly eager to arrive on the 1st because the Mary Gee groundskeeper desperately wanted to get rid of us so that they could start repairing the damage we had caused.

Now imagine to our complete surprise when each of us turned up in our parent's cars, possessions all boxed up and ready for their new home... and we find that no-one is there and that the previous occupants haven't quite moved out.

We never saw that coming, especially given past experiences for collectively fucking up anything we'd all try to do.

Fortunately, we had two things that would help see us through:

 

In order to get our landlord's telephone number from my computer, I had to travel back to Mary Gee with my near-epileptic father to find a power-point. The groundskeeper was especially pleased to see me.

Our landlord was currently sleeping under some cardboard in a ditch by the A36 after drinking two bottles of Scotch bought from a nearby Granada services, so he wasn't going to be much use to us. However, Mark's dad was able to break into our house using nothing more than a coat-hanger and a cat-flap. This raised serious questions as to our welfare and safety, but we lived with Andy so we guessed we'd be okay. (Everyone thought Alex's stepdad had broken into the house because he was from Southend)

It must be said that our parents were concerned about our welfare as soon as we walked through the door. Mothers vacuumed and hoovered, Fathers installed TV and checked eletrical connections, Alex's stepdad diligently de-toxed to freezer and Mark's dad looked around in a state of confusion. Paul was busy singing ancient African tribal songs and occasionally hitting his bongo.

Once our parents came to their senses and went home, we started making minor adjustments to the house. I managed to get hold of a big old TV from home (which promptly became trashed when Bea knocked a door onto it), and within a week the living room was a awash with bloke-stuff such as playstations, N64s and empty tins of Spesh.

One of the many lessons we would learn upon living in a house would be the value of foresight. For example, we never got round to checking out the bathroom which was a bit of a downer. It had so much limescale deposites and mildew that no female would dare step foot into it. I swear, I spent NASA's annual budget on limescale remover and had little effect:

 

There were many problems that became apparent. I mean, six blokes - five students and a barely conscious jobseeker - living in a council house was bound to cause problems from the start. The house was essentially two houses, but the ground floor of the second house was meant for a shop while the upstairs was sealed off and linked to create one six-bedroom house. Because of this, the kitchen was tiny and only ever meant for three people. 

Given our track record with culinary hygiene back Mary Gee, we instantly fell into the cycle of accumulating filth over a period of two weeks and then making token attempts at cleaning. A cleaning rota was introduced and instantly ignored as if doing the washing up gave you AIDS:

 

The fridges were worse - mould grew in abundance where we had neglected to clean and anything involving the preparation, cooking or eating of food within our house was akin to playing Nintendo with God. 

Still, there were fringe benefits that we had not foreseen. We had a garden. Or rather, a concrete alleyway. Mark and Paul finally had a place to store their Mountain Bikes and BMX. Sadly, there was no shelter facilities and so Paul's BMX became rusty and useless. Fortunately, Mark made a makeshift shelter out of some old tarpaulin and expensive speaker-cabling which he "borrowed" off me.

 

Perhaps the best thing about the house was the fact that nothing could get worse. Plaster was falling out of walls (the ceiling outside Alex's room collapsed in a particularly lively episode one night) and electrical wiring made excellent tripwire. These minor problems who eventually make thrilling obstacles after a night out on the tiles.

Fortunately, the neighbourhood was pretty good. Aside from the fact that part of the Al-Quaeda terrorist network - the dudes involved in the Sep 11th attack on the twin towers - came from our part of the Leicester, there was a convenient strip of shops just down the road. We were situated opposite a grocer/off-license and next to a video shop. Technically, Andy wouldn't have to move more than a yard if he needed cigarettes, beer or porn.

Bonfire night was a particular boon since we were able to perform "Community Service" and help promote "Family Values" by buying some fireworks at the offy and setting them off on a feeble piece of scrubland a few houses down the road. I don't know what we bought (I was too fixated with the thought of buying sparklers) but there was this really good firework which flew up to the same level as the telephone wires and exploded like a shotgun. That really made us popular with the locals.

 

Everyone customised their rooms accordingly. Mark painted his room banana-yellow and drew hippyshit flowers and squares all over his wall (admittedly, they did look good), Andy painted his room a dark aquamarine colour and Richie painted his room "HoneyBee Yellow" (possibly in an attempt to attract more gay people, I'm not sure). I added Chinese drapes, to cover the tidemarks in my bedroom, which promptly collapsed on me during the night. Alex enshrined his room with his usual array of posters, shot glasses and "curiousities" from his job as a lighting technician at the uni's nightclub. Paul didn't do much, except hang up his mini-rocket he built as part of his Physics & Space Science degree.