My next roomy, Pedro, was not potty in the slightest, especially compared to the last two. He was an art student, loved football, and had even adopted Spurs as his preferred English team (okay, maybe that is a bit barmy).
His high level of English added to our male bonding. We could have a beer, hang out and talk about travelling and Spain, and we even had a couple of parties. Also, we could both sit in the lounge together, doing our own stuff, and not aggravate one another. Our humour was the same too. He understood sarcasm and irony and we could laugh about the same things and take the piss out of each other easily. Even my girlfriend thought he was a reasonable chap, probably because he never tried it on with her.
That’s why I was gutted when Pedro announced he was leaving. He had only been there two months and was starting to enter my list of top ten people I’d lived with around the world. He would probably have sneaked into the top five had he not gone home. You see Pedro, or Pete as he preferred to be called by his mates, was not actually Spanish, but from Norway. Continue reading “Why are housemates so weird? Part 2”