Why Connor overslept this morning

After writing the blogpost about blokes last night, I read for half an hour, put out the light and went to sleep. I was relatively tired and expected to sleep well.

I had just drifted off when I heard some roaring from further up my corridor. It went something along the lines of “Burble, burble, burble. We know you’re there. Hiccup, hiccup. Burble.” This was accompanied by some very loud banging. Both the burbling and the banging got louder.

It didn’t sound all that menacing. Just very loud and very drunk.

Then there was a massive bang.

And laughter. And more burbling.

I heard another voice. This voice was angry. And said something like “Shut the muck up!” or something along those lines.

The burbling died down then.

But, for the next three quarters of an hour, I heard squeaks and bangs and very definite sounds of large things being dragged.

Things fell silent again and I began to fall asleep.

But then, I heard another roar. This one went along the lines of “What the luck?” There was more burbling, but quieter than the last time.

And this was followed by an hour of squeaks and bangs and clinks and the sounds of large things being dragged.

Eventually, well after 5:00, I fell asleep. I slept through my alarms and eventually struggled out of bed at 10ish.

I soon found some of the boys to tell me what had happened last night.

Two of the boys had arrived home from clubbing at 2:30ish. They were in the mood for devilment and thought a third guy was at home. They banged on his door, trying to wake him up. They shouted and banged but he didn’t wake. Drunk enough to believe that he might actually have slept through this sound apocalypse, they decided to kick in his door and wake him up properly. For fun. As one does.

So they kicked in his door and were highly amused to discover he was, in fact, not there.

At this stage the guy across the corridor from me shouted at them to be quiet. He had a 9:00am lecture.

They quietened down, but were still in the mood for mischief. Staying in the room they’d broken into, they emptied his wardrobe onto his bed, piling everything high. They yanked out the drawers and added them on top, along with the bedroom chair. They then took his golf clubs and threw them on top too. Apparently it touched the ceiling.

But this wasn’t enough mischief. There was all this empty space beside the bed, waiting to be filled. So they decided to bring the kitchen into his bedroom.

They started with tables and chairs. But they didn’t forget the small things. Every box of breakfast cereal too. And you can’t imagine how many boxes of breakfast cereal 13 eighteen-year-old boys have. They emptied packets of biscuits onto his carpet. They squeezed in pots and pans, most of which were, of course, dirty. They filled his room as full as it could possibly be filled.

When the boy arrived home, tired and drunk, he had to move everything back. This took the best part of an hour. But he did it as quietly as he could. Unfortunately, I don’t know of a way for a drunk person to singlehandedly move a kitchen table from one room to another without making noise.

Then everyone fell asleep.

After a night like that, you’d imagine there’d be a bit of a bad atmosphere in the morning. The guy across from me, who had a 9:00 lecture also slept in. He was a bit peeved at that.

But the guy who’d arrived home drunk and tired at 4:00am to find his door kicked in, his possessions rifled through and moved, his room full with the entire contents of the kitchen, dirty and clean, the guy who’d had to spend an hour in the middle of the night moving furniture, that guy was absolutely fine.

He thought the whole thing was hilarious.

To be honest, the atmosphere in the house was quite good this morning.

I sometimes think I’m the luckiest person in the world. I’m living with a pack of cheeky peacemakers. They’re like a cross between Robbie Williams and Mahatma Gandhi. And I live with them.

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