The Moans and Groans of Home

Going home for the holidays – always a mixture of dread and longing. 

You look forward to lounging on the sofa, festering in bed all day and punching younger siblings… but there’s a negative air to the prospect of a month off.

Initially, the calls from Mum begging, ‘What food do you want?  How much stuff are you bringing back? Have you forgotten about me?!’ soften the suburbia-induced blow.  You start to genuinely believe that home might be… sort of… nice?

But then, it all goes tragically wrong.

20 minutes in – perfunctory hugs have been bestowed, the dog has been squeezed within an inch of its life (I JUST MISSED YOU SO MUCH!!!) and the fridge has been well and truly raided. ‘…What now?’

And so, the moans and groans of going home begin.

We’ve compiled a list of 7 moans and groans, implicit with a warning:  if it hasn’t happened yet, it will.

Armed with enthusiasm and a disturbingly high BMI, it’s time for a strict regime of no carbs before marbs, 8 glasses of water a day and daily walks with the dog.

Wrong.  Unlike us, parents can actually afford decent food. The house is overloaded with extravagantly expensive but oh-so-worth-it treats that are impossible to ignore.

Don’t bother packing your summer wardrobe, you’re going to be rolled back to University with an excess of lard replacing any need for clothing.

The ‘I’ll do it at home’ pile of dirty clothes has grown a life of its own.  After presuming that Mum would become so furious with the ever-growing heap of crap she’d take charge, the gauntlet as been laid down; it’s now up to you to do the deed.

Optimism turns to shame when you realise that you don’t even know how to start the machine.

Sorry Momma….

Family reunions are part and parcel with returning home. Drunk parents and even drunker uncles, it’s the only time that adults can legitimately drink without inspiring shock and awe in the younger generation

However, after three hours of, ‘So, how’s Uni?’ and ‘Have you met anyone special?’ and ‘Have you got yourself a grad scheme for next year?’ you’ve reached boiling point.

It’s time to leave – before you’re forcibly removed from the party and the will.

If home wasn’t hellish enough as it is, our keepers seem to think it’s okay to turn the house into some sort of fire pit; even your knees are sweating while Mum, huddled in her cardigan, bemoans, “Is it me or is it cold in here?”

Yes Mum. It is you.

We’re not suggesting our parents should be subjected to the arctic regime we put ourselves through – if home houses are saunas, then student houses are fridges.  However, the speedy shift from constantly freezing to melting is unbearable.

Who’s going to be ‘happy and helpful’ when even their teeth are on fire mother? Who?

Seeing a friend can ease the outrageous boredom that is the suburbs.

Until… what begins as enthusiasm spiralsl into deep, deep regret. In no time, you’re sharply reminded why you didn’t actually like that person when you lived here.

There’s always that freak you left behind for a reason.

The inevitable, ‘You no longer live at home, so I will not fund you’ conversation.  Do they not realise that when (if) we budget (we don’t) the holidays would be left out of said budget with the understanding that at home, we pay for nothing.

They’re just being selfish now, flaunting their wealth in our faces.  When student loans come in and they get no birthday present, we’ll see who’s really laughing!