The door of my apartment has been revolving again and we’ve had another change of flat mates. Out goes one girl, in comes one boy.
It wasn’t so long ago that I’d just found two girls to live with. I was slightly apprehensive about living with two girls – it’s not like the movies (not the movies I watch anyway) – but it worked out well. Unfortunately one of them decided to move in with her boyfriend so left the other two of us looking for someone to replace her.
The process of flatmate finding isn’t the greatest. It’s a pain in the arse. Especially when you know within a minute if they’d be a good fit or not and have to go through a little rigmarole with them.
This time we just seemed to have weirdo’s coming for viewings. Not least someone, who said “I prefer brunch over lunch…”.
I don’t think I even knew what brunch was until I was in my twenties (actually, I’m still not really sure what it is)…cloven-hoofed beasts might as well have dragged me up.
But who says “I prefer brunch over lunch” without laughing? Not me.
“I’m from Liverpool mate, you’re not moving in here if you come out with stuff like that.”
Obviously I ooze culture.
Thankfully, one of the last to view the apartment turned out to be ok and moved in a few weeks later – a male this time. So far he’s settled in and seems like a good sort – and someone who likes to go out for a drink now and again (rather than “brunch”), which is a bonus.