Saturday, 27 August 2011

Smells Like Fleetch Spirit

This post has been a month in the making. Well, I say that but what I mean is that for a month I have been telling myself I should write it, rather than actively working on it. Nevertheless, I finally got around to it, so ladies and gentleman, it is with the utmost pleasure that I introduce the friend who is currently staying with me. I refer to her as 'Fleetch' (a combination of 'flatmate' and 'leech', as we are inevitably found hanging around the other's bedroom whispering singsonging phrases like "Hey... WHATCHA DOING?" in a purposefully annoying way) and she refers to me likewise. A fleetch is for life, not just for a summer, so taking one in is not a decision to be made lightly, and not everyone can be a fleetch. It requires a special personality to match your own in such a way that you only have to raise an eyebrow in a certain way for your fleetch to catch on, or utter a certain word in order for your fleetch to know exactly what you're thinking. After some training, your fleetch may be able to conduct whole conversations through the use of subtle facial expressions, although for best results this should not be attempted while drunk.

This month has been incredibly entertaining. We have built up so many in-jokes (that she is actually my sister from another mister, the particular voice we use addressing each other which is reminiscent of Terence and Phillip and suggests that mischief is about to be planned poorly and carried out swiftly, the awful films we've spent hours mocking together, our matching Zombie Protection Squad trucker caps and Red Dwarf 'Chameleonic Lifeforms - No Thanks!' tshirts). I'm sadly very aware that she's probably going back to the States soon and there is a time limit on the fun, which has possibly only increased our enjoyment of it.

Fleetch can often be found cuddled up on the couch with one or more cats in a strange, bestial pack-sleeping formation or simply wandering around the flat singing songs with the word 'fleetch' inserted into them (much like the Muff Game mentioned in a previous post) such as "She Wants To Fleetch", "Son Of A Fleetcher Man" and of course, the classic Nirvana song of the title of this post. In our spare time we've been known to paint bowling pins to look like otters and pirates, spend hours joyously discussing how epic the new hoover is and even more time trying to decide on a theme for the living room - so far we're going with Beach Party and I've already sourced some genius inflatable animals which I fully intend to purchase on my next payday.

My fleetchbro likes to leave me banana notes (please see photographic evidence below) instead of Post-Its, which is an important and economical way of exchanging messages in these hard recession times.

She has also been known to burst into the bathroom while I am brushing my teeth to take mock hiphop photos, because "dental hygiene is important, yo" (more photographic evidence - note I am discovering how uncomfortable it feels to laugh hysterically with a toothbrush in one's mouth) and despite my best efforts she's created an album of these called 'Fleetchsta's Paradise' on Facebook.

In addition to all this wonderousness, today is her birthday, so here's my toast - Fleetch, if I had a glass I'd raise it to you. And then I'd drink it, and you'd pour me another, and it would end up being one of those weekends again where we don't sleep for 36 hours because we're too busy partying with hot foreign girls, watching cagefighting and leaving each other hilarious banana notes( I love those weekends). In short, I hope your shot glass is always full, that your ladies are always fun and open to being verbally abused every ten seconds, and that you'll start your training as soon as you get home, because when I come to visit you next year we're going to party like this again. Furreals.

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