Thanks for reading,

Chris xx

Sunday morning made it’s unwelcome visit to me and the housemates to find us all in a deep sleep. After a substantial amount of waiting in the littered house it left with an indignant stomp, slamming the front door behind it. Following this, the afternoon arrived to the same scene, but gently tried prodding and poking our foreheads to wake us all from our state of unconsciousness. Eventually we all arose to find that the mess was still present and immediately pondered why we had bothered to get up at all.

Today, the house consisted of the usual suspects: Alex, Mini, Cathal and myself, as well as Amy who, along with Kumaran and Hanan, is one of our honorary housemates. We decided now would be the perfect time to invite Kumaran round and have a Housemates’ Christmas dinner, since the fridge well stocked with beverages from the night before, and our timetables meant that this would be our only chance to do it. I would be in charge of the meat (since vegetables aren’t classed as food, in my diet), Mini would tackle dessert and Amy would take on the vegetarian dishes. After a brisk and irritatingly cold walk to and back from Sainsburys, we returned with all the ingredients we would need as well as a frozen chicken, which was previously thawed when we bought it.

I come from a Sri Lankan family. A culture built on food and an irresponsible use of spices, most notably: chili powder. Given my heritage and my quick access to a vast array of South-Asian seasoning, I decided to ignore all I had been taught and make a Chinese style roast chicken for the dinner. It’s a simple recipe: take various bottles of dark liquids from ones cupboard, pour absentmindedly into a large bowl, mix and adjust using additional quantities of liquids to taste. Take a Sri Lankan helping of chili powder and remove portions based on how much the other guests value their taste buds. Add to bowl along with chinese five spice, salt and pepper. Make quick joke referencing Michael McIntyre’s impression of chinese five spice and proceed to mix. Lavishly smother the marinade onto chicken and spread using a deep tissue massage (other massage methods may be used, except Thai, as Thai massages risk compacting the chicken back into egg form). Once chicken is adequately coated, lay it top down on an baking tray and slide into the oven along with a tray of boiling water. Sauna for 40 mins, turn over, add bacon, and leave in oven for 40 mins, or until the line of drool protruding from your guests’ mouths reaches the floor. Remove from oven and admire for 5 mins before serving. Present with wine which is uncorked and costs more than £5 in Tesco.

After eating enough to render all exercise done since 2008 completely useless, we sat back and held our stomachs with delight. Fortunately, there were no leftovers between the 6 of us, so after 15 mins or so, we were all able to walk unaided to the couch, and collapse.

Next we played a new board game Amy had got us as a Christmas present, called “Pub Quiz”. As you can imagine, the rules were quite straight forward: a point for every correct answer and the team with the most points at the end wins. We played boys vs girls and predictably the team with the most comprehensive array of useless knowledge in their heads was the boys; victorious by 16 perspicacious points.

The night wound down with chatting and much merriment with our nostalgic musings. Eventually Cathal decided to call it a night and head off to bed. We unanimously decided this was a great idea, so we went into his room and lied across him as he tried to sleep. The talking continued for a bit longer, till eventually we were interrupted by a soft creek and then a large jolt as the foot of Cathal’s bed came crashing to the floor. We all darted upwards and burst into laughter as everyone examined the wooden bed which was completely shattered down it’s right hand side. While moving the evidence out of his room, we wondered how much fun it would be to explain this mishap to the estate agents, beginning with the phrase: “well, there were six of us in bed and…”. Everybody moved back into the living room, and while we were very guilt ridden, we were still somehow able to make jokes as “All I want for Christmas is you a bed” played in the background.

Soon after, we clambered onto the sofas to see if we might give their structural integrities a run for their money. Fortunately, they were both comfortable and unyielding, and were thus an adequate place to settle for the rest of the night/early morning/late morning/Monday, until we all made our slow progression back towards our own beds to sleep.

Thanks for reading,

Chris xx

Since this would be the last weekend before everyone at Imperial jets off to their various exotic locations, my housemates and I decided to conjure up the necessary effort to announce a Christmas Party on Facebook. After a quick nap and a Deep Heat for the strain the laptop trackpad implored on our index fingers, we proceeded with our usual action-plan: forgetting about the task in hand until the deadline makes a pleasing whooshing sound as it sails past.

The afternoon before the festivities, the house was dolled up with some Pound-land tinsel and some classic Christmas music bellowing from the television. All unwanted items in the living room were discarded in the dishwasher and all the dirty cutlery and crockery was stored in my bedroom cupboard, since the dishwasher was now fully occupied. Thanks to the horribly low standards students have for parties, and the fact that our house doesn’t suffer from a rodent, insect or pestilential housemate infestation, our place was now a sterling venue for some alcohol-aided fun.

The night began with around 20 people invading the most Christmassy restaurant we could find. This turned out to be Masala Zone in Fulham, who were giving a seasonal twist to their food by only inflicting second degree burns on anyone without a South Asian Mother. The meal was absolutely delicious and I applaud the waiters and waitresses for putting up with such a large number of indecisive students without changing their views on juvenile corporal punishment.

After the intricate mission of working out how much each of us needed to pay, factoring in service charge (a task made marginally simpler through the use of 2 iPhones, a Blackberry, 3 Imperial mathematicians and a call to the DoC computing cluster) we headed off to Sainsburys to stock up on ammunition for the night. This is where we see the true skills of the medics as they located any desired alcoholic brand using a combination of sonar and a heightened sense of smell. Once all present were satisfied with the quantity of Eastern European delights in our baskets, we made our way to the tills and headed home.

One thing I really like about students is their resilience. Our home is equipped with seating for 7 people in total, but that was more than enough to accommodate 30 students. Our small kitchen table was decorated with an assortment of overpriced liquids and the medics were teaching us an unusual drinking game which required no more than the mental agility needed to open ones hands and call out a multiple of five below 25. Thanks to my Sri Lankan understanding of spice usage and the annoyance of electric hobs, the house slowly filled with a warm, seasoned mulled wine vapor which I can only hope has no lasting side-effects.

We all chatted, we laughed, we juggled at one point, and put on our best “embarrassing Facebook photo” poses whenever a camera apparated. As the guests slowly decided to make their way to anything resembling their own bedrooms, my housemates and I had a nice celebratory hug and all fell asleep to the sun rising in the east, dreaming that the mess scattered throughout the house would be dealt with by the time they wake up.

Believe it or not, Sunday was even more eventful, so stay tuned

Thanks for reading,

Chris xx xx

Thanks for reading,

Chris xx xx