Staying at my boyfriend’s uni house has become a fairly regular part of my week. This was not originally the plan, but it’s happened gradually enough that I didn’t really notice it until I realised I now have a charger there. When he first invited me to stay at his uni house, I told myself I was being dramatic when I packed extra socks “just in case”.
From the outside, the house looks like most student houses in Bristol: run-down, permanently cold and mildly hostile to anyone over the age of 22. Inside, it operates according to a set of rules that no one has ever said out loud, but everyone (except me) seems to understand.
No one owns anything
Apparently, everything here is communal, with personal boundaries stopping at toothbrushes (hopefully). While this sounds like a good premise during the term, I fear many of them will walk away from this house-share with a single spoon and about four jars of paprika. Asking whether you’re ‘allowed’ to use something feels unnecessary, but using it also feels faintly illegal.
Some kind of sport is always on
The TV is never off. At any given moment, there is sport being played on the TV. Not necessarily a match anyone is actively watching, it’s just on. Usually football, but occasionally darts, cricket, F1 qualifying at 11pm or a highlights replay from a time before anyone in the house was born. No one seems particularly invested or can tell me who’s playing, but everyone agrees it’s “important.” Turning it off has never been suggested.
Cleaning happens exclusively under pressure
The house is ‘about to be sorted’ at all times. A deep clean solely happens when there lies the threat of a visit by a parent or landlord. At this point, there is a sudden flurry of activity with bin bags appearing out of thin air. Apparently, this house lies in a weird kind of matrix where I am the only one who notices dirt.
There is permanently a beer in the shower
At some point, I noticed there was nearly always a beer in the bathroom during showers. This is not treated as noteworthy and I discovered very quickly that it is neither a novelty. Not for a special occasion or a joke, just a half-finished, lukewarm shower beer perched alongside body washes and shampoos as if it belongs there. Questioning it would immediately out me as the weird one.
The plate cupboard is a structural hazard
Opening the cupboard is an act of bravery. Plates are stacked in the order they are picked out of the dishwasher rather than by size, with bowls and mugs balanced precariously on top of one another. Removing one item feels like defusing a bomb. Nobody is aware of the problem, no one addresses it.
Late-night guitar practice is inevitable
Just as you think the house has finally settled down for the night, someone decides it’s the perfect time to practise guitar. It’s always after midnight and it’s always the same four chords. They insist they’re learning something new, but I remain unconvinced. There is no escape; the walls are thin, the confidence is loud.
The dining table has been repurposed
At some point, the house made a collective decision that eating meals at a table was unnecessary. The dining table is now a table tennis table, which is treated with far more respect than food ever was. Meals are eaten on beds, laps or standing in the kitchen while scrolling on Reels. Sitting down to eat together is obviously too formal.
They’re weirdly proud of it
What’s most noticeable is that no one seems particularly bothered. The house works for them and that appears to be enough. Any criticism I attempt to make is met with genuine confusion: ‘It’s not that bad,’ they say sincerely.
The worst part is I have found I’m adapting. The shower beer no longer shocks me and the plate cupboard makes sense. Despite all this, I keep coming back. A fact which probably says more about me than them. At this point, I’m not sure when I stopped visiting and started adjusting. But I do know I should probably take my charger home at some point.
