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A love letter to Monte Halls, written from my mouldy second year house in Portswood

To those who have just settled in and those who got out without a serious disease

As I sit three jumpers and one blanket deep in my mouldy Portswood house, I think back to the four walls within which my decline into university living began.

The decor that probably dates well back to the early 70s, with it's worn carpet and desk, whose curtains transport you to your nan's house. If it wasn't for the mattress springs lovingly stabbing me each night to remind me of this room's age, it was the constellation of pin holes in the wall next to my face.

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I didn't always live like this

The more unpleasant flatmates (I loved you really)

You need never feel alone when you can go for a piss, turn your head to the left and are greeted by a fuck off huge silverfish (if you know, you know).

That's not to say that these guests are unwelcome, I once was prevented from attending my lecture by a massive rat (cheers) that I left undisturbed, circling the bin bags outside our block's door.

Or, you know, the other time in summer 2016, that some may remember when the actual plague rained down on Monte and sent all the ladybirds in England our way. Some may say Monte is a thriving wildlife spot.

Playing cat and mouse with Resident Support

The fun doesn't stop there. These halls have their very own light show! That familiar flicker of lights switching off before the room's inhabitant can slip behind the curtain to smoke, making sure to waft it upwind. Evading the Resident Support was no simple task. The more creative ones managed to devise a "sock-on-the-smoke-detector" contraption for this precise reason, but although this was a temporary fix, seldom did they manage to avoid the most fearsome authority of them all: their mum.

The stairs were the communal hub

The severe lack of communal space made for some uncomfortable bonding. Laying on the hallway floor in dressing gowns, or sat at the kitchen table whilst all seven flatmates try to cook their spaghetti hoops simultaneously was a common scene.

I'm sure we all are familiar with the hub of all Monte blocks: the stairs. It really showed the length to which we would go to talk about absolutely nothing while we are all on our phones. And we sure as shit weren't going to use Connaught's common room.

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Beautiful communal areas

The nightly procession of rowdy clubbers

I'll admit it, I myself may have screamed in the courtyard as if the whole square cared that my flatmate just tripped and body slammed into someone passing by. But when you're in bed watching a film and "OI OI" is filtering through the curtains at an increasingly loud volume, it does tempt you to shove your head through the tiny gap in your window and shout a blunt "FUCK OFF".

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Guaranteed pajama t-shirt after this night

However, you can't help but love it

I know much, much more can be said of Monte and it's uniqueness, offering each newbie their own funny (fucking disgusting) stories each year.

However, I will leave this love letter as a testament to its resounding glory and I will think fondly back to my times there, the friends I made, my memories ringing in my ears… like the bloody weekly 3pm fire alarm test.

We sort of love you Monte, we do x