5 best things about moving back home
Packing is certainly not the best thing about coming home | Kate Johnson
The final term of university has drawn to an unwelcome end. Many are packing up their rooms, three years of memories (some drunken ones we’d rather forget) are crammed into hefty removal boxes. Fond farewells are made, overdue library fines are paid and at long last those dirty mugs and plates are cleaned. This is the end of university as we know it. The end of an academic era and, for those not opting to do an MA or travel the world, the arrival of the unavoidable and inevitable: moving back home.
Upon first consideration the prospects of returning to my childhood abode was one of doom and gloom. Let’s face it, no one wants to admit that they’re in their twenties and back living with their parents. I immediately detect the smugness of those twentysomethings who have their own shag-pads, complete with oak flooring and surround sound system, when I abashedly tell them about my living situation. “Oh, so you still live with your mum then?” Unknowingly for them, with no mortgage to cough up, I am in fact the smug one. Living at home isn’t perfect but with one year’s worth of experience I have compiled the top five perks to help sweeten the blow for those of you dreading the move back.
1. Picture the horror when, during the first week of living in my rented house, an uncooked pre-packed beef burger went AWOL from the fridge. Given that none of my housemates would admit to being the burger thief I imagined that it must have grown arms and legs before proceeding to remove itself from the cellophane wrapping. Although the incident was a little odd, I wasn’t majorly concerned since my food had at least remained within the confines of its packaging. The following week, when my Wensleydale with cranberries completely vanished, I was not such a happy bunny. Serial food robberies ensued until I eventually submitted defeat and would no longer go food shopping. Now, such petty crimes are a thing of the past. At home, living with my mum, step-dad and our Yorkshire Terrier, I sleep soundly, safe in the knowledge that my Wotsits and vanilla cheesecake will be right where I left them, for me to devour tomorrow.
2. Whilst living in halls of residence my piles of dirty washing were ceiling high. I did not appreciate having to traipse across the car park just to get to a washing machine, and I never seemed to be in possession of enough twenty pence pieces to even get the machine going! These days when I put my dirty clothes in the wash basket they miraculously appear on my bed the following day, folded and smelling of daises. Ten points to Mum.
3. I can’t remember the last time I ate baked beans. I think that in itself speaks volumes, seeing as those little fellas are faithful student sustenance. Yes, homemade cuisine is a major selling point for living with my parents. The mouth-watering aroma of tonight’s barbeque drumsticks is wafting upstairs as I type.
4. There’s nothing worse than desperately needing the loo only to find that once you’ve managed to make it there in the nick of time, that your housemate hasn’t replaced the finished bog roll. Fortunately for me, I’m a quick learner, so this was a one off. I stored toilet rolls in my room, hiding them in the most unlikely of places. A sharer and carer by nature, I felt guilty for doing this but then again my student house had become somewhat like survival of the fittest and I was going to be the one coming up trumps; evidently in more ways than one! Over the past year I have had no toilet traumas. Instead, I am simply greeted by an endless supply of soft, cushiony roll which really beats having none at all.
5. Once you are back home, you can kiss goodbye to those instrument-playing neighbours. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good bit of rock ‘n’ roll, but not the musical attempts of the boys next door. Regardless of whether they attended the College of Music, the guitar player was no Brian May. I’m not alone on this one. Earlier this month my boyfriend resorted to switching off the electricity in several of the flats where he lived, just to ensure that he could study for his finals without interruptions from the aspiring Slash downstairs. The most noise I hear now is the post being pushed through the letter box; an all round more Zen experience.
Living with my parents doesn’t quite have that Vodka-Redbull-take-away-food-all-round-grubby character that my previous student lodgings had. And I admit I would love to have my own place to gain back some of that lost independence. But for the mean time, I can hardly complain; I’m well fed, clean-clothed and I can still listen to some guitar playing when I fancy it. On iTunes that is.
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