WE all have THAT housemate. They are the one that seems to have a monopoly on eccentricity and exhibit enough bizarre behaviour to keep a legion of psychiatrists busy for years. That is part of the fun that comes from moving to the UK after all: sharing your life with people you would never ordinarily meet (and some you would normally cross the street to avoid).
I was lucky when I moved to London: I slipped straight into a lovely house in a nice neighbourhood, living with a motley crew of friends from home and people they had met through friends in London’s Australian community. We shared meals together, helped each other out and there was always a mate on hand if you ever needed to have a chat over a pint.
It wouldn’t be a London share house without one eccentric oddball though. For us, it was Polish. He had a name, although it is difficult to confirm that considering he never received a single piece of mail for the entire time that I was living there. I was told about Polish before I moved in: “You will barely see him around, just don’t encourage him…”
Don’t encourage him? What did that even mean? It didn’t take long to figure out. Polish continues to be the most unusual individual I have ever met. Despite living in the UK for around sixteen years, he speaks very little English. He is apparently a builder, however after a weekend of heavy drinking he has been known to go on a self-imposed ‘strike’ for up to two weeks. His cupboard has no food in it, and I could count the times that I saw him eat on one hand.
Polish is a generous kind of guy, particularly when it came to alcohol. He would never take no for an answer when offering around beers, at times to the point of frustration when he would pull out a lukewarm can at nine in the morning.
I get the feeling that there are depths to Polish that we will never truly understand. Even after months of living in the same house, he had the ability to surprise: it was only last week that he casually mentioned that he had four children that we had never heard of before. On days when he was particularly lucid (read: sober) he would tell fantastic stories about his family living through decades of war and conflict in Poland.
It is virtually inevitable that you will end up living with someone who is head-scratchingly odd. I got lucky: mine came with beer at breakfast time.
[ Source: Australian Times ]