Anyway, most of the characters in this maybe-true story are dead-set against (oh Lord, what am I becoming?) those funky middle-class apartment blocks going up all over Brisbane's western suburbs.  This is strange, because a quick poll of my flatmates confirmed that our collective ambition in life is to live in one of them and watch Voyager for 24 hours straight.

I was going to write a cute column about this phenomenon, when I found this article in a mini-issue of the UQ student mag.  There's no author or copyright notice, but I would like to emphasise that it's not mine.  I just wish it was.

(This was slightly edited to fit with our own share house situation.)

HOME BRAND LIVING

There's something about finally moving out on your own that makes you want to quote soppy "coming of age" flicks.  Flying the coup, blowing the popsicle stand, ultimate freedom.  Leaving home conjured up all kinds of crazy debauched activities in my head, and there've been a few, although most of them involved impromptu shopping trips.  It seems to me that in those "coming of age" movies they just don't seem to have discovered the joys of budgeting – especially Home Brand products.  You see, Winona could have saved herself and her gas card a lot of trouble if she'd realised you can live solely on mint slice biscuits and Baker's Delight samples.

Yes, we were in for all kinds of crazy spontaneity like jumping in a combi and heading for the coast.  But the reality of road trips have been jumping in stray trolleys and heading down to Woolies.  Oh, the specials!  Dear God, I sound like my mum!  And it is this alarming phenomena that I've been trying to warn you about.  I can speak knowledgeably about the merits of various toilet papers and pastas.  It's as though I've slipped into some kind of middle aged nexus.  I engage in detailed conversations with the frightened teenagers working at the supermarket, I get genuine pleasure out of clean oven, and one of my flatmates has developed a fetish for white goods.  We fear she may be too far gone.

But you're not!  Save yourself!  Cling to your parents for grim death.  Don't let Hollywood, with its funky "student digs" and its charmingly bohemian poverty lead you astray.  I've been there, I saw the bright lights of a share house in Indooroopilly and look where I am now – sharing my pain on a website because I can't afford the newest brand of detergent *and* a psychiatrist.

Excuse me while I have a moment alone with the microwave.
 

Comments?  Questions?  If you wrote this and you want it removed or your name added, email me at elizabeth_barr@yahoo.com.au

Copyright © some anonymous Semper contributer, with a couple of changes made by Liz Barr.