In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.”

‘Mad as a Hatter’ was the writing prompt for today and this incident immediately sprung to my mind. It’s something of a legend in our friendship group. Allow me to share it with you. But be warned, Lizzie + rage = swearing, if you’re overly sensitive to that kind of stuff maybe this post isn’t for you!

Now, if you know me even a little, you will know that I’m not an angry person – you can find me in the easy-going, ditheringly cheerful category. The sort that needs supervision in the kitchen when handling knives; on my second ever day at university I sliced my thumb on a tin of beans. Blood everywhere. No beans for Lizzie that day :(

There’s some background to why rage is particularly out of character for me, now to the event.

Last year, I was living in university halls with my brand new and awesome friends aka, my Canterbury family (LOVE YOU GUYS!). Any of you jolly splendid people reading this who have ever lived in halls know that they’re not the most soundproof of places to stay. You have to be pretty tolerant when your neighbours make noise as chances are, a skype session with your family of what seems like a decent volume to you, could be torturously loud for the poor soul living next door. As a student, you are wary of your volume, so you turn down your music slightly, but not too much because your mate next door likes to play guitar at half 11 at night and you CAN HEAR ALL OF IT.

On the night of the incident in question, I was already tired, I had a couple of assignments due soon and so had been working on them all evening, so when it was a reasonable time to call it a night (so after the thought process of ‘is 9:30 too early to go to bed? …maybe. I’lll leave it a bit longer’) sleep came on stealthy wings and transported me to dreamland where I was perfectly happy and comfortable.

And then it happened.

3am rolled around. My flatmates got back from an evening ‘working’ in the library…they keep strange hours, I know. They made noise and a helluva lot of it. They ruthlessly dragged me back to reality with their jeering and it disrupted my snuggles. I was not a happy bunny. Not at all. Bitches don’t interrupt my sleep!

But this was fine, I’d certainly made my fair share of noise late at night after a couple of drinks and they hadn’t flown into a frenzy then.

A couple minutes passed and I thought the drama had subsided and was drifting back to the land of unicorns and Channing Tatums but oh no, this was premature.

A certain house mate of mine by the name of ‘Louis’ had been locked out of his room by our dear friends ‘Joe’ (from a couple of posts back, remember?) and ‘Carl’ and decided that the only thing he could do to remove them from his room was to TURN THE HOOVER ON.


I know!! I don’t understand! Did he think he could use the suction of the machine to suck them out?! I have no idea! Clearly it was the stupidest idea that anyone has ever had, so needless to say I flew into a rage and exploded from my room like an arrow loosed from a bow and poor Louis was about to feel my wrath.

“What the FUCK are you doing?!?!” I screeched mercilessly in his poor unsuspecting face. “It’s 3 in the morning and you’ve TURNED THE HOOVER ON TO GET THEM OUT OF YOUR ROOM?? WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!?!”

Needless to say, Louis shat himself and Joe and Carl emerged from his room looking pretty sheepish. They all mumbled apologies and left me to stalk back into my room in a fit of rage with a cartoon storm cloud above my head.

In the morning, Joe and Carl thought the whole fracas was hilarious and Louis appeared terrified of me for about a week afterwards. But it all turned out for the better and the four of us are thick as thieves now and they do the washing up whenever I ask them to, for fear of a repeat of Hoovergate.

So concludes my tale of anger and hoovers and lack of sleep. It may seem like an irrational thing to rage about, but anyone gets in the way of me and a good night’s sleep without good reason runs the risk of my own personal Hulk coming out and scaring you witless. You have been warned.

Now playing: Shinedown – Devour


My friend ‘Joe’

I have a friend…I know right, astounding!

For argument’s sake, let’s call this friend Joe. Hi Joe!

Joe is the most loyal, kind-hearted friend you could ever want or need in life. When I’m feeling down, he’ll comfort me using what has now become a running joke: he looks at me and says; “Lizzie…dick.” To which I reply; “…Big dick.” It can go on like this for a while and we change up the words sometimes. Silly, I know, but it always puts a smile back on my face.

If I’m struggling with university work, he will either a) get me to talk it through with him until a navigable path through those complicated essays becomes visible, or b) he will go to the shop and buy the pair of us some pick-me-ups which can vary from Haribo Tangfastics (the best variety, I’m sure you’ll agree) to a punnet of blueberries and a Yop.

Every morning at about 7:20, he acts as my alarm clock and wakes me up so we can trek the 20 minutes or so of the winding road to campus in order to be in the library at 9am where we work in companionable and dedicated silence for around 40% for the time we’re there. The other 60% is filled with banter, sex jokes and DMCs (that’s Deep Meaningful Chat, for those of you who haven’t heard the wonderful phrase that I’m claiming was first coined by our friendship group.)

My friend Joe cracks bad jokes on a regular basis and takes bad pictures of everyone which he very much enjoys sharing. He makes us all smile with his dopey grin and the fact that he thought Thailand was pronounced ‘thigh-land’. This caused endless amounts of hilarity at the time and still does now.

My friend Joe is one of my best friends.

But yesterday I had to tell him about something I did, a bad decision I made as the result of being exceptionally vulnerable and slightly too intoxicated. It was a long time ago but that doesn’t make it much better.

I watched his face fall and a flicker of disappointment flashed in his eyes momentarily.

I hated myself at that moment for letting him down.

But still, he hugged me and said that it’d be fine and that he wouldn’t go anywhere and let me cry on him for a little bit.

My friend Joe is the kindest and most loyal person I’ve ever met and will most definitely stay in my life for years to come.

This has been my most honest post to date I think, if you’d maybe like to follow suit and describe one of your dear friends or perhaps a bad decision, go for it :)

Now playing: Lower Than Atlantis – Words Don’t Come So Easily