I can't say I find Rod Liddle all that engaging a character but I take my hat off to last week's column in The Spectator in which he recalled the first time he shared a flat with a load of blokes.
"In the toilet," he writes, "which was never, ever, cleaned, someone — God knows who — had nailed a Birds Eye fish finger to the wall." I love these Withnail stories about just what slobs all men are during their twenties because no matter how outlandish the detail of the levels of filth and debauchery to which the writer descended, you just know that it's all true.
Next year my son leaves hall and goes into a flat. I will not be visiting.