Flatmate No. 4: Lucius Malfoy (RIP)

Tonight will be the last I spend in this house.  It's been a surprisingly emotional event for me, one to which I didn't expect to react so strongly.  I have yet to get the packing ball rolling, because the thought of leaving (and, by extension, leaving England) is wholly unpleasant.  The thought of taking down all my pre-Raphaelite prints and the various postcards I've accumulated over the year moves me to tears.  Literally.  I woke up this morning thinking that would be a good place to start, began crying and haven't progressed from that point. 

Now would be a good time to remember that not all my experiences as an MA student have been peachy keen.  Also, I have yet to share my thoughts about flatmate no. four.  Two birds; one stone.  Lucius Malfoy, here I come.

Obviously, his name isn't technically Lucius Malfoy.  Nor, unfortunately, does he resemble Jason Isaacs in any way.  Lucius is the moniker we bestowed upon him, because he's the proud owner of a replica of the cane Jason Isaacs carries in the Harry Potter films.  It has a removable wand and everything; you know, just in case a wizard duel arises unexpectedly.  Lucius is also an aspiring novelist.  Upon our first meeting he told me all about the novel he's writing about a cyborg who enforces justice and a distrustful dog who won't stop barking at the cyborg in question, or a dog robot, or something of this sort.  I can't be sure, because it all seemed a bit strange to me at the time.  Only now has it occurred to me to wonder what the title of a novel like this would be?  DogBorg?  The Terrier-nator?  Hmm...

I don't want this blog to become a dumping ground of negativity, but living with Lucius Malfoy was awful.  There's no way to sugarcoat it.   The man had an awful smell about him.  All the time.  As did his girlfriend.  If I used the loo after either of them had been there, I could still catch a whiff of lingering body odour.  It was that pungent.

One memorable evening, I had invited my friends Ana and Liz over for dinner.  Liz had never been to my place before.  When she rang the bell, I realized that I would have to forewarn her about Lucius who was in the kitchen, cooking without a shirt (thereby extending the reaching power of his aroma).  My welcome went something like this:

'Hi, Liz!  Come on in!  Oh, and by the way...my flatmate is cooking in the kitchen.  He doesn't have a shirt on.  And he smells.  Like, really bad.  Sorry.  But make yourself at home!'

Just when I thought I couldn't be more embarrassed on his behalf, he boob grazed her on his way out of the kitchen.  Yeah, he's that awesome.  Needless to say, we were all relieved when he vacated the house after a short tenancy (thus the RIP in this post's title).   

So, while I'm sad to be leaving a place that's been the site of some wonderful times, at least I'm furthering the distance between Lucius and myself.  I mean, I surely won't be able to smell him on the other side of the Atlantic.