Flatmate fever: How to keep the peace through the winter blues as a KCL student

Ah, winter.

The time for frosty noses, days that are shorter than the amount of things you actually managed to tick off your to-do list, and the incessant hum of the radiator – a radiator which, funnily enough, usually serves as the reason for throwing the first punch in a scrap with your flatmates.

Without persistent precaution, your polaroid picture and fairy-light infested flat may transform into what can only be described as a winter-induced psychosis war-ground, where instantaneous meltdowns begin faster than you can say “who’s stolen my oat milk?”

Fear not, however. With a little wit and wisdom (along with the odd passive aggressive post-it note stuck on the fridge), you’ll be sure to weather the winter blues and keep the peace, as well as a squeaky-clean criminal record…

Spatial awareness

The mere fact that London transforms into a sub-zero, bitterly cold battle ground the second September hits is likely enough to send you over the edge all on its own.

However, adding into your living quarters a cohabitant that resembles Satan himself will certainly seal the deal.

As somebody who feels that pandemic-induced social distancing is a trend that should have made its way back into public discourse far before the return of ballet flats and oversized blazers, it’s of my personal opinion that allowing space (both mental and physical) is central to the success of not murdering your flatmates via strangulation. Hands, face and s-p-a-c-e, girl.

I’m more than aware that minus temperatures, combined with two-minute long Uber journeys setting you back more than a return trip to Bangkok, don’t make appealing prospects for heading out in the winter months.

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However, that doesn’t mean we have to take the term “cosy night in” too far. Sometimes, it’s best to veer away from the flatmate-enforced “scrabble and sangria Saturdays,” in favour of the more peaceful “get out of my face Fridays.”

Remember, flatmates are like socks. If you wrap yourself in the same ones every day, things will inevitably become rather foul-smelling.

Be sure to allocate evenings where “me time” is a top priority. This could mean anything, from a Housewives marathon, to a hot and steamy shower, or even a hair-pulling, teeth-grinding crying session! The possibilities are quite frankly endless.

The thermostat tango

A lesson I’ve grown to learn is that the thermostat dial was designed to function as a thermostat dial, not as a feature on a set of pioneer DJ decks. There should rarely be a bass drop, or even a remix for that matter.

Aim to keep the set temperature at a level of consistency that matches the loyal energy of a loving husband in a 30 year marriage. Steer away from twists and turns reminiscent of your year 10 boyfriend that couldn’t even offer a smile and wave in the science corridor.

When the walk to and from your closest tube station starts to feel like a torturous journey up to Mount Everest base camp, concurrently, the sheep begin to be separated from the lamb.

In this case however, the sheep are those who believe that turning the heating up to its maximum capability will counteract the ever-growing chilliness of being in Elephant and Castle, as opposed to Barbados.

The lamb, conversely, feels as though heating is a phenomenon whose use should be restricted exclusively for tech billionaires or Made in Chelsea stars. Two thick jumpers and a hot water bottle will, alternatively, suffice.

It’s at times like these that negotiation is key. The implementation of a heating schedule could be handy – or better yet, simply bribe the chilly ones with cheap, corner shop wine until they’re obliterated enough not only to forget that they have non-functioning fingers (severely lacking a plentiful blood-flow), but also to stop glaring at the energy bill as if it’s just assaulted their mother.

In another bid to disguise misery and hypothermia with imagination and comedic charm, one could even go as far as creating a ‘heating treaty’, which everybody will have the pleasure of signing. Perhaps use pretentious language like “Thou shalt not spend my life earnings on Octopus Energy heating bills just to leave the windows open regardless.”

10 points to Gryffindor if you reach a level of boredom intense enough to go as far as rolling it up like it’s an ancient scripture for dramatic effect.

Fridge-born friction

The arrival of winter means hearty home-cooked soups, and stews that transport you into a state of violent PTSD from a childhood filled with nothing but slow cooker induced misery.

Regrettably, every flatmate will also conclude that now is the perfect time to prep meals as if a universe-ending apocalypse is imminent.

Before you even have the chance to give your therapist a call and discuss your worryingly hostile fight-or-flight response to the engulfing scent derived from the cooking of said stew, your shared fridge is suddenly playing a combative game of Jenga. Leftover containers battle it out, and you are sure to find the odd three week old onion, holding on for dear life and helped only by a rag of cling film.

Fear not however, as there is a simple solution to this dilemma.

The implementation of a clear fridge labelling system doesn’t exactly embody the glitz and glamour one may have hoped for when moving to the capital. Still, it does indeed avoid the forced purchase of a biohazard suit when you are left with no choice but to tackle Stacy’s six-week-old beef bourguignon.

Remember, if it’s starting to flourish into what strongly resembles a Petri dish used for a study into the birth of penicillin, it’s got to go.

Living in what can often feel like a glamourised student edition of Alcatraz, with individuals varying in both culinary ability and taste, also requires a level of acceptance for the reality that your Tupperware is a thing of temporary possession. Like your once positive view of the world, yes, they will in fact grow to be opaque and barren.

Winter cleaning warfare

Dust is proven to thrive more in a heated flat than a far-right Tory does in a seminar on modern class division. Quite like that one lingering person from first year who is insistent on maintaining a friendship, its presence is typically unwelcome.

When faced with the challenge of floors coated in a layer of dust so thick you could write your signature in it, however, it appears that everybody magically becomes too busy to pick up the vacuum.

Luckily, my suggestions for resolving this issue are plentiful.

First, avoid face-to-face showdowns filled with passive aggression and below-the-belt remarks by setting up a cleaning rota. Glitter glue and “star of the week” stickers are a helpful way to keep things light-hearted.

Alternatively, make the act of cleaning a thing of competition and rivalry.

Nothing gets a 20-year-old readily on their feet with dust-pan and brush in hand quite like the phrase, “first one to mop the floor gets the last dregs of my bottle of Pinot.” Evidently (and rightly so), fermented grapes mixed with yeast and ethanol continue to take the top spot as “most successful motivator for uni students.”

I will take this opportunity to plead with those of you that are happy to live in squalor. On behalf of us domestically trained individuals, life is far too short to accept a quality of life defined by dust mites and a sink blocked by instant noodles.

There is no experience that amounts to such a level of disgust as spending four hours going at it with an antiseptic spray in the kitchen, just to re-enter the communal space moments later and discover it’s gone back to looking like a set design proposal for the “Project X” film.

Clean up after yourselves you feral animals (not aimed).

Mental health report

I find it borderline offensive that Greta Thunberg’s work into climate change awareness doesn’t seem to touch upon the undeniable existence of the winter blues.

Sure, rising sea levels aren’t ideal, but to be perfectly honest, they are nothing but an after thought compared to the fact that not even the viewing of your favourite comfort film (Shrek 2, no disputes) can assist in increasing levels of serotonin the second winter commences.

A flat full of vitamin D deprived homosapiens can often lead to a twilight zone-esque environment.

It’s for this reason, therefore, that its almost vital to revamp your living room. Take this safe haven filled with dead cacti and stolen pint glasses, and turn it into, essentially, a waiting room for a walk-in psychiatrist’s office.

Make a point of checking in on one another. Do your best to put differences aside, even the differences birthed from a mysteriously missing charger that nobody’s owned up to stealing.

After all, poor mental health can become more contagious than an STD in a week of peak time partying in Zante, so it’s for the benefit of all that you remain on the straight and narrow.

Suggestion: nothing lifts the mood quite like an impromptu karaoke session. In my experience, it really gives Sertraline a run for its money.

Yes, your interpretation of Mr Brightside will be off-key, and arguably disastrous enough to make the cut for a YouTube video compilation of “X-Factor’s worst auditions.” But yes, that’s all part of the charm.

By following my carefully curated simple steps (and maintaining at least a base level of humour), you’ll be able to survive flatmate fever with flying colours, and emerge in spring as a squad closer than the cast of Friends. At the very least, you will still be on speaking terms.

Most importantly, live peacefully in the knowledge that cohabiting in a flat is like starring in your very own sitcom. Keep it fun, keep it fresh, and maybe, just maybe, those winter blues will heroically transform into winter belly laughs.