I think I love my flatmates more than I love my family

People talk about getting on with their flatmates, but I think I like mine a bit too much. They’re the people I spend every waking moment with. Yes, there are ups and downs but it’s nothing compared to two weeks in Tenerife with my mum, dad and sister. I love my siblings a lot, but they’ve got nothing on the brotherly/sisterly bond I have with the people I live with.

Thanks for being you

I haven’t locked my bedroom since Freshers. Sure there have been some “awkward” encounters, but hey we are all friends here. We no longer flinch at the sight of a very naked flatmate prancing around, who needs clothes any more.

What’s more, you know you really love someone when you share all of your food with them. Like at home home, our fridge is communal. What’s mine is yours. Don’t leave your pot noodle in your cupboard or I will devour it when I get back from Revs at 4am. Any leftover food is put up for auction in exchange for eternal love and appreciation. Tea rounds are also on a rota, milky and no sugar please. My mum never makes me onion rings and sweet potato chips for tea – but my flatmates do.

Our group What’s App is constantly active, even when we are under five metres away from each other – FaceTime is also a regular occurrence to the next door room. When one housemate is away for the weekend we genuinely feel like a part of us is missing, so constant photographic updates are necessary. This includes the abundance of unattractive selfies we all store of each other, which are an excellent mode of potential payback/bribery in times of future crisis.

Not only do I like to spend an entire night out with my flatmates, I then want to talk about it for hours the next day. Morning-after debriefs are compulsory, even if we do just spend most of the time repeating the same uninteresting anecdote. It’s all become a bit Swiss Family Robinson. Every member of the flat will fit into one single bed and try to shed some light on what happened the night before. This is particularly helpful when one of your flatmates is the definition of a “wanderer” and has no idea where he’s been himself.

And they look after me so well when I’m hanging. Selfless acts include bringing sick buckets, back rubbing, and hair holding.

And of course, they’re full of affection. There are cuddles on tap and the opportunities for a top tail disco nap are endless.

I just love you guys.