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Living With the Enemy and the Twenty-Something

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Living with people is difficult. End of. It becomes especially difficult when you are forced to live a room in a dusty, cold, Victorian house that used to be a well-known crack den in the Brighton and Hove area.

Further stress is known to be caused when you unknowingly move in with a nu-age cleaning Nazi who inhabits the cadaver of Joseph Goebbels - and thinks it's totally cool to leave passively aggressive notes about house cleaning, which they clearly scrawled in a fit of rage in the middle of the night after seeing a few bread crumbs scattered across the kitchen top... I'd prefer a simple fuck off written in pig's blood on the fridge door, cheers babes.

Those that decide to fly from the nest of mum and dad do embrace their independence, but is it really all it's cracked up to be? What do you do when you find that after months of saving and preparation, you hate the people you share a bathroom with? When the sight of their moulding toothbrush makes you dry heave? And you stealthily avoid making conversation?

Less than twenty years ago most people were paying a mortgage by the age of 24. Fast forward to 2012 - 28% of 20-34 year olds live at home with their parents, and the stark desert of the unemployment scene has risen from 13% to a depressing 20%, with not an oasis in sight. More than 3.2 million young people are faced with the dilemma of either staying put with mum and dad, or paying out thousands, filling up empty space. However, many people don't have the choice of moving back home, and have to move in with people they would not choose to socialise with.

I moved away from home earlier this year and as a first class grudge bearer, judgments were made swiftly and set in stone - my future housemates didn't have much of a chance before I was to begin my vendetta of hate. I drew my battle lines with one particular housemate on day one after an off hand comment about the pointlessness of the Paralympics was made as welcoming small talk. Within seconds his name was to be forever crossed off in my expectations.

Living with strangers means that daily aggravations mount up, and within weeks you find yourself biting your tongue until it turns to gristle in your mouth, and you fight the urge to stop yourself from spitting your teeth in their face.

Household chores can literally birth an ugly two-headed beast that has the potential to tear people apart. Arguments flare up over who takes the bin out the most, Who keeps turning the heating on full whack in the middle of the day, and who insists on bringing some scraggy waster back for a quick shag at two in the morning, waking up the whole house with their loveless, brutal love-making.

It has left me wondering if staying at home would have been a more logical and savvier response after graduating from university, instead of paying high rent prices.