The winter is over. How do I know? When I wake up in the mornings my nose and ears are no longer blocks of ice; in December, I once woke up and, literally, the first thought that came to my head was, "The tip of my nose is the tip of an iceberg". Word. I know we've all been there. It's comforting to finally sleep with all limbs stretched out under the covers rather than tucked into a ball of jumpers, blankets, hot water bottles and triple-layered socks...kudos to all those girls out there who manage to sleep in their sexy boxers and bra even when one can see one's breath fog up the air inside the house.
But can I complain, really? You know where I'm going with this. The situation with housing in St Andrews is a tragedy. I was talking to a first year the other day, who told me her future flatmate's parents are buying an apartment for them because they couldn't find anywhere to stay next year (yes, yes, only in St Andrews...). So, in reality, I am fortunate to sleep in this bed, no matter how many bruises that mattress has given me, or how often my curtains dance with the ever-present draft coming from the windows (look at me turning complaints into an anthropomorphic love-saga).
The question of why we are all so desperate about housing has been approached by the Students' Association, the University, Fife Council, student activists, and our student media is always all over the issue, whether for satirical purpose or serious denouncement of the matter. We pay ridiculous amounts (London prices, sometimes) for accommodation that leaves a lot to wish for, and with some landlords that, well...you've heard the stories.
As much as I wish I were serious enough to go on a very clever rant about the 'housing market' of St Andrews, what I really want to do is list the top (or bottom!) five things that I've seen in flats here that have truly left me speechless. Whom, where and when shall remain undisclosed:
1. Mould House--yes, literally, I think that house was made of mould. I stayed there for about 15 minutes and when I came out I had been transformed into mould girl. I reeked of mould. My hair, my coat, my very core had moulded. And it was such a nice house as well! I'm not sure if my friends were aware of the smell or not: isn't it worrying, spending so much time in a house to the extent that you become part of it? (Does this mean that my skin might turn magnolia soon?!)
2. The outdoor closet--not literally, but when there isn't insulation between the exterior world and the wall of your bedroom closet, the result is that clothes begin to resemble stalagmites (or is stalactites? I can never remember). My friend's solution was to run from the shower to her clothes to her bed and to get dressed underneath the blankets. That is, when her clothes didn't stick to her fingers, like a tongue against an ice lolly.
3. The un-jammable window--one of my friends lived through the first few months of winter with a jammed window next to her bed. Jammed open, of course.
4. House relics--when plumbing should be kept in a museum as evidence of early history's engineering techniques, rather than connected to your toilet.
5. Ugly carpets--very few houses are exempt from this charming design concept. The patterns, colours and antiquity of the carpets in many St Andrews flats are just...well, what words can I use? Are there words? My question is: when were these carpets ever even considered an attractive decorative element? The worst are bathroom carpets. It just instantly makes you wonder what kind of flora is growing under that fabric (interestingly, the mould house did not possess a carpet in the bathroom). There is a positive side to ugly carpets though: seen as many of them are not properly attached to the floor any more, they provide an excellent work out session when you vacuum. You know, one foot holding it down, an arm trying to vacuum swiftly whilst applying pressure to the aforementioned carpet...and voilà, Pilates suddenly becomes such an amateur fitness concept.
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