Are you cut out for house-sharing?
Andy DawsonFollow author @profanityswan
Andy Dawson is a journalist, author and self-proclaimed ‘dreamweaver’, who writes about football, TV and anything else that comes into his head. He writes for the Mirror, Sunday People and Comedy Central and is a father of two who lives in Sunderland.
Before you lower yourself gently into the murky pool that is house-sharing, you should carry out some thorough research, and the best research tool for any given subject is televisual fiction. With that in mind, let’s look at some of the most popular house-sharing shows from history and try to figure out what life would be like with telly’s greatest ever tenants…
Man About The House
Two girls and a guy, sharing an innuendo-filled house with Yootha Joyce’s permanently frustrated landlady lurking on the staircase, a jealous ear forever pressed against the front door. A penchant for wandering around in a half-open kimono would work in your favour here.
An endless whirl of sex, drugs and legal jargon being bandied about across the kitchen table, as sexed-up strangers rifle through the Frosties or chop out a line on top of the microwave. Sounds like a living nightmare – well, the legal jargon does.
The Golden Girls
“Thank you for being a friend,” trilled the theme song, but if you lived here, friendship duties would include being verbally abused by Sophia, wondering if Dorothy really would sound like Orson Welles if her voice was slowed down and, if you’re male, fending off Blanche’s amorous advances. Moving to Miami’s tempting but no thanks.
Privacy? What privacy? There’s no locks allowed on your bedsit door – otherwise how else would Rigsby, the paranoid, misanthropic landlord, be able to wander in at will, gibbering away at you like someone who’s got his medication wrong? A bit of company now and again would be no bad thing, though.
There’s a specific requirement that you have to meet before you’re allowed to live in Craggy Island’s Parochial House – you need to be a priest. I’m not a religious man, but even I could easily out-bluff Father Dougal, who notoriously had problems getting his head around the whole God thing. Plus, infinite tea and sandwiches from Mrs Doyle. Count me in.
Up to 10 weeks spent living among a gang of hyperactive strangers with an assortment of personality disorders, your every move watched by millions of people who are sitting in their living rooms dealing with a smaller group of societal misfits, namely their families. Personally, I’d rather live on an out-of-control bus filled with wasps.
Fletcher and Godber’s cell is already full, so you’d have to move in with Harry Grout instead, with his beautiful decor, his pet budgie and his snout. It could be worse.
The Young Ones
No. Just no.