*Aptly, there are quite a few profanities in this post (sorry). The best years of my life so far happened between 2010 and 2013. I moved into an awkward-looking rickety house with bright blue window sills on Burton Stone Lane, York with three girls and three boys… The boys were, well, strange. There was the Italian who was at least ten years older than us, smoked weed outside his front room, had a thing for bringing Asian girls back after nights out and only seemed to know how to say ‘it’s freezing’. There was the Darlo lad who told us he had bowel cancer when he didn’t, walked around in Homer Simpson slippers, and smelled of gone-off cheese. And finally the Geordie, again a bit older than us, who kept raw sausages in his kitchen cupboard and had 30-second sex (they weren’t quiet) with his German girlfriend who visited every now and then. They didn’t talk much, just the odd grunt if you passed them in the hallway, and they didn’t exactly live...
