St. Andrews Gardens, a pleasant-sounding place. Sounds like a place people go to when they want to lie in the dog crap smeared grass. But there is little grass in this place, just a patch here and there; this is accommodation for students and Italian chefs. I lived there for just short of a year, and I guess it’s time to show you just what sort of place it is. I was much too busy (lazy) to do this before.
Welcome to prison! From the outside St Andrews doesn’t look the nicest place, in fact you can almost see the crazy ex-con man sharpening his knife through the windows. Fear not though, he’s just there to study business at John Moores University. Once you get through the black metal gates, a new world is before your eyes.
Or just a set of drinks vending machines and a common room nobody uses. If they had chocolate or crisp vending machines the world would be a better place, but it isn’t bad. I had a lot of fun with the elevator, stripping off and dancing as I waited for the doors to open. It only happened once.
Each flat has two doors, one at each side, and this was the closest to mine. The blue marks aren’t anything particularly exciting, just the sweat of man-eating Smurfs who scratch the doors each night. They have only got in once and only one person didn’t make it. They’re like kittens really.
The flats are pretty swish on the inside, two sofas, two ovens, two fridges, one bin, half man, half biscuit. It’s almost big enough to house seven people at the same time, if you don’t mind a bit of cramp. But most people do, so four at a time, please.
Each side of the kitchen/living area is a corridor and on my side is the long sinister stretching one. Often I see a young dead girl waiting for me at the other end. Starting happening after I watched The Exorcist alone one night, but I’m sure it was an overdose of Big Bang Theory which made me have deranged illusions. That show can drive any man insane, those unaffected have probably already had their brains sucked dry of any imagination or concerns beforehand so can take it. When the girl doesn’t lurk in the corridor, rumour has it that she leaves logs in the toilet, and not the wooden kind. But ghosts aren’t physical entities so that’s a stupid rumour. So who could it be? Cue the musical cue; dun dun daaaaan!
And finally my room. The lights broke three times, my chair snapped in two, one of my windows had a massive hold in the side, but other than that it was a perfect base for the year. Though windows must remain shut between 4pm and 7pm to avoid random stones, water and bottles being thrown through. Aren’t kids cute?
And that is the gist of what St. Andrews is like. Full of monsters, but at least the doors have locks.