As I browse around London for somewhere new to rent, I find myself asking: how do I avoid the horrific housemates of renter’s past?

As my Cocktails & Confessions co-host Dani St. James had also recently moved out, on this week’s episode we took the opportunity to dish all on our worst flatmates, while putting the question to C&C followers too. 

Although I’ve had a handful of, let’s say, off-key flatmates, the worst was by far my gay live-in landlord in Manhattan. 

I remember arriving to view the apartment and he was so lovely, and charming, and attractive. I was thinking, hey, even if we don’t end up falling in love after a night of drunken passion like some Reddit sub-thread written by a failing English student… I’d have a friend in the Big Apple, right?

No ma’am.

Some days he’d barely say a word, and the days when he did he’d be moaning that I’d used his shower gel… Like girl, relax, I’ll give you $2.99 to trot back to CVS. I’m a total mental health supporter but they should really have to inform you if you’re about to move in with someone who has multiple personalities. (Especially when eight of them are cunts). 

What followed was worse; three months of belching, leaving skids in the toilet bowl, and food permanently sat in the kitchen sink drainer. (Just scrape your plate, hun).

The crescendo of my five-star stay was hearing Jekyll and Hyde getting his cheeks clapped all night long by someone that wasn’t his boyfriend. BLEURGH! She puts the cum in scum. 

Then he took $150 out of my deposit to clean the room, which I’d already tidied, despite me leaving him a room full of furniture to rent it out for the next person.

Anyway! We pitched the prospect to you lot (via our Instagram), and some tickling results… 

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